beater buzzer?
buzzer beater
The buzzing in my spine echoed that of my tires, their knobs howling at the insult of being directed across asphalt.
Call my agent! Check my ryder! I will not work under these conditions!
Oh how the knobs did howl with insult!
Do you know who I AM?
Then came another buzz.
And that buzz came not with pleasure, but alarm.
A truck?
I was riding to pick mine up.
Lifted. Big stupid tires.
They buzzed.
My spine buzzed.
I let off the paved shoulder and down into the dirt I rolled. Tires crunched gravel as my freewheel buzzed
The buzz wasn’t too much
(in fact just enough)
I popped back on the pavement and pedaled a little bit more quickly - a whole lot more quickly
I simply sprinted.
Buzz buzz buzz
What sound do you make when your outrun your fear?
