Airport Way and 99 are not built for bikes, five-lane
highways
crowded with rusted-out sedans and an endless variety of
suvs,
shoulders covered with sand from last winter’s
black-ice and broken bottles of malt liquor,
bike lanes and side-walks illustrating
quantum physics—bursting into and out-of existence,
windows rolled down with middle-fingers
displayed: “get a fucking car asshole.”
This road, city, county,
built to funnel union workers
one-by-one in gas chugging monstrosities
to and from the largest building in the world—
unwilling to share cars that seat six,
or a
five-lane highway.
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