Bi Cycle [iii]

Everything might be a work of fiction. This is fiction.

Fuck those broken wheels. Fuck this post. Fuck this fictional post. I opted to walk. Walking makes you think less of the bicycle and whether you are still in balance or whatever you are supposed to think about while riding a bike. I have been to many places with my metaphorical bike. Yes, in case you didn't notice, the bike is not an actual bike. And this isn't actually fiction. Fictional narratives are still based on nonfiction, so, everything is fiction and nonfiction at the same time, because nothing is purely truth or purely bullshit. Though there are people who talk total bullshit. This post is not going anywhere. This is teenage angst from a someone in the quarterlife near-death experience (or depression, to use an economic term!). This is a testament that I cannot keep a professional blog, but I can choose not to post my ramblings on sites where most people would see how fucked up I am.

This is the last of the Bi Cycle series. A third in the series of two wheels is fucked up, right? This is fucked up. Like everything else. I can't think of anything. But you. I have to fuck something and create! Soon!