After getting my rear mind wheel replaced, today I ran smack into a car and bent my front one. It'd been awhile since I ran into a car, and it was like bumping into an old friend--soft and comfortable. What are they making cars out of these days? I swear it was softer than my bed. I merged right into the front passenger-side fender and was absorbed into the hood, wrapping that neo-psycho brain plastic around me like a lover. I really didn't want to get up out of it, but the car owner was all in a hurry to get somewhere and pulled me out of its sweet sweet grasp. It was worse than getting up this morning. I said my goodbyes, but now you know imma gonna be keeping a lookout all the time for my next soft fender lover, try and find the time and place to steal another snuggle.

Blew a psychic spoke today. Glad for the student-run Psybike shop on campus. It was the second time in a month so it wasn't worth truing my mind wheel again. I hate sitting in that contraption and getting spun for 20 minutes anyway. For a replacement they put you out for a moment and it's done. Back on the road!

Sometimes I get to my drop off and I have to wait. The recipient has not yet arrived. I can't get mad -- they didn't know they had a delivery. But if they'd just trusted the signs, they'd be here by now.

It's at a local watering hole. I read the curve of the crowd and find no openings. Dockers, chinos, short-sleeve shirts tucked in with belts. Expensive frames. Women in comfortable business wear and pointy shoes. The deliveree would be warping the space -- a yawning, gaping irresistible gravity-hole of YES. Like the spinning spiral nickel drop at the science museum. But what I've got to give would just roll right off this audience.

Ah, here she comes now...

Sometimes no one knows if I've delivered my message. Even me. Even when I deliver my message with silver ninja throwing stars, which I keep in my velvet-lined pockets. Even when I open my mouth and the snakes crawl out and everyone in the restaurant races for the exits, snagging on the tablecloths, table settings crashing to the floor.

The messages in my Clemstone bag are secrets too. I'm not even sure what they are till I reach the delivery point, then I just open my bag and they climb right out.

I'm an all-weather psychic bike rider. I've got tires for every kind of psychic weather - dry, smooth, skittish, crampon tires for when it freezes over, gecko suction cup tires when I need to get sticky. Rain or shine, lightning or lava, I'm out in it.

Because I've got the packages that need to be delivered. Bits of information that must reach their recipients or their destinations. I've got a Clemstone bag, an Augur range finder, and Mercury shoes.

Sometimes I'm late for class.