Good Intentions (and Asphalt)

The heat finally broke last night while I was in still in the bar, drinking it up with Maury’s friends and the last of yesterday’s air. Inside was stuffy, but the ride home was brisk, cycling through the crazy maze of construction along Bloor, past the intersection where just last summer another cyclist, likely not that much drunker than me, made the mistake of picking a fight with a Saab.
     He was dead before the light could change and the driver, with his powerful connections, was exonerated in less time than it has taken them to finish paving things over.