My mind’s always spinning. Constantly keeping a list of things that I’ve gotta do in my head. My bicycle commute in the morning becomes a traveling zen moment. At my best I weave the three and a half miles to work in an unstopping spinning of pedals, dissecting my movement into inches at traffic lights, near-motionless in the balancing act of a track stand, sliding behind buses, waving to friends on foot, smiling at the other bicyclists. Every block of so a bubble of analytic thought rises to the surface of awareness, and I slip past it, immersing myself again in the sound of the early morning city around me, slipping around potholes, sliding around parking cars before finally parking my own bike and stepping into the corporate elevator, a box within a box designed to
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