White clouds spirit through the overcast skies, like wild horses racing between downtown towers. I cycle up these streets like liquid, across the teeming rivers, and through heady trees over which the canvas of the sky paints an dark asphalt smear. The neighbourhood forests seethe in exotic smells, all freshly washed and untainted by automobiles. My gears grind out the rhythm of the rain as I ride the storm's scent like a water god of old, and as dry as driftwood I remain.
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