THE CONSTRUCTION OF BIKE PATH NUMBER FOUR
Two men in business suits are standing on the edge of a curb in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by factory stacks, white pavement, and road. There is a gale-force-wind which picks up the tail ends of suit-jackets, trouser-legs, and briefcases, and flutters them in the air.
Man 1: It’s perfect, don’t you think?
Man 2: I agree, even these gale force winds.
Man 1: I hadn’t noticed, but it is a bit windy.
Man 2: It reminds me of Bauhaus.
Man 1: What does that mean?
Man 2: I don’t know, but it seems slightly edgy. Cyclists like that kind of stuff, right?
Man 1: They eat it up.
Man 2: I also like the train tracks.
Man 1: When I was a boy, I enjoyed trains.
They stare at the train tracks wistfully. Suddenly, loud rock music is heard. All of a sudden a dark black bike covered in thin-metal spikes rides out of the horizon, pedaling furiously. As it comes closer, the music (blaring from a boombox on the rider’s back) becomes deafening. The rider is covered in leather, and his hands are bound in thick black hockey tape. The two men turn from the railway tracks and stare at the rider in horror, covering their ears. The rider stands up on his bike, no hands. He reveals that he has a IED strapped to his leg. He jumps in the air and does a somersault onto Man 1’s head.
He peels back a section of the IED, revealing a blinking red button. The two men try to get away but the biker laughs. He knows they will not get far.
He presses the button.
The two men and the biker explode in a cloud of righteous fury.