101 THE FLIES by Jean-Paul Sartre

Reluctant Dissenter #2, the last living bicycle rider inside the Plip Plop Coffe Shop, buzzed with excitement behind baby Drew’s back.
“Zzzzzzz zzzzzzzz zzzzz zzzzzzzz zzz,” he intoned.
He took little light steps with no pattern besides remaining out of baby Drew’s sight.
Another deep breath by the heroic toddler, “The Midnight Special” by the Strollin’ Bluegrass Band just outside, and “Bewildered” by James Brown on the cafe’s ambient soundtrack obscured the buzzing. In a sense, baby Drew was being dodged by a bicyle rider more than ten times his age, more than double his height, and many times his weight.
“A disgrace,” the Patron of the Arts shared with her roundtable. She directed them to observe the tall man in clinging tenspeed basic black with magenta effects, and nubby shoes which may have promoted an imaginary fellow feeling between the Reluctant Dissenter and professional athletes, especially Lance Amazing. But for the first time since he’d taken up the preoccupation of bicycling, he didn’t use his shoes to clatter around and show off. He minced as he darted and buzzed like a fly looking for a way out the window.
But the other baby watched every move the bicyclist made.
And he took another sip.

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