Next part. Remember: written without editing, NaNo style, fast as possible to try and get to 50k.
She was heading towards the water, which wasn’t a great sign. Anything that was by the water could be gotten to faster by the highway—biking in traffic was great for windy little roads and crosstown jam avoidance, but a car pulling 70 plus down a nice flat piece of turf with neatly signaled exits would beat her old speeder any day. She kept pedaling, hoping for a turn before to prove her wrong, but the last avenue came and her phone beeped once—a left.
Jesus, she thought, I coulda taken the subway and avoided the rain.
At least it wasn’t in the water. You never knew with this job.
A car roared up on her left, sending a wave of streewater at her. She swerved, and another car honked behind her. Pedaling harder didn’t help—the car just kept honking, a heavy blaring that cut through the rain’s fog. She glanced behind her, catching a glare from the driver behind. Fuck it, she thought, and popped up on the sidewalk next to the metro.
As she pedaled, the metro rose up alongside her, train gliding smoothly along the inclined tracks until she was at eye level with the windows. A thick enough boundary separated the metro from the sidewalk that no one would be jumping on or off without some serious lack of sanity, but she could see in all the same. It was a good way to set the pace, and Sohan pushed her legs harder, watching the train out of the corner of her eye.
The bike hit a crack and it was only her reflexes that kept her in the seat. The puddle’s splash sent water straight up and into her eyes. Sohan yelped and blinked, squinted, took a valuable hand off the handles—something her brain hated her to do—and cursed under her breath. The fuck did I forget my goggles? She thought.
Then she remembered. This morning had consisted of a drunken walk around a neighborhood park—a neighborhood that wasn’t even her own—with a bottle of Jack in one hand and her foot-long U-shaped bike lock in the other. She remembered swinging one of them around, and bringing the other to her face, though she couldn’t promise that what did which stayed the same. After that had been a very embarrassing—and long—walk to his house, where she had stood for almost an hour working up the nerve and the bravado to start either yelling brilliant curses or weeping pathetically.
Instead I just stood there, she thought, flushed. Couldn’t get closure or fuckin’ humiliate myself. One of ‘em had to have been better than this.
