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  • A wave of relief hit me as I pulled my bike up to the intersection of Eichberg's driveway and MLK Jr Blvd. No cars; no other people; no other bikes. A peace that was very much missing for the past ten days.
    The previous two weekends were all about tourism. I almost hit/got hit by a couple of trolleys, on an amplified number of runs to accomodate an inflated number of people attending SCAD Alumni & Friends & Family happenings, the Girl Scouts up to something and a couple of arts/local culture festivals to boot.
    I struggle to breathe in this overwhelmingly crowded place when it floods with tourists who can't make sense of the traffic direction around the squares or through the live oak-lined medians or which direction is North and which direction is the park.
    Also, all of the azalea bushes have been beheaded.

    Rambling on to say that it was a welcome moment of calm to begin my 1 a.m. journey home on my bike, so I recorded it, expecting playback to be nothing but peace.
    Instead, I hear the mechanics of my bicycle,
    The clanking of my U-Lock against the frame and the tires crunching leaves and Spanish moss and kicking up water from the day's thunderstorms.
    And then the unexpected swishing of my pant legs when I hop off the bike to take it inside my apartment building.
    And the familiar beep of the elevator,
    And its surprising, though faint, rhythm while the cables hoist the car.
    I've never before noticed the heaviness of the lock on my apartment door.

    But I almost always come home to a friendly hello from a friend I've had for nearly four years.
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