But I was careless enough to not be deterred. In another few seconds I was on the road towards GF, heading back home after a final deal and a financial day. All through, repeatedly, I had the blood spreading over the surface of my index finger, and then dripping onto the asphalt of Western Express Highway. My spontaneous solution was to suck it all up, like a lollipop, but that wasn't a very efficient process, evidently. So in unequal portions, my precious was distributed between: the road, the handlebars, back into the body (though not the same thing).
At Home, staring into the mirror, my lips were as if coated with glossy black lipstick - dried up blood. It would've been funny had I stopped somewhere for sundries. But my contract with the road and my new bike should mean more, now that its written in blood.
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