I sit in a cab, leaning against the door/window to get the full blast of the wind in my face on a typically hot, sultry day. Red light. Stop. A familiar bike sidles alongside me and moves up slightly ahead. An exchange of smirks. A nod of the head. The accelerator is pressed. The cab creaks forward just the right amount. The spotlight came on, blinding me. I couldn’t see my beholder’s face. I couldn’t feel my clothes. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t hear anything save the turbulent liquid nearing a boil, I couldn’t move. Light changed. The smirk stayed. The liquid was compressed down to the pit of my being, where it stays, simmering, sputtering, but not boiling over. Never boiling over.