peanut brittle leaves that crinkle and waste away like shards of antique rice paper hang tenuously by their withered stems to branches that certainly would not have the strength to carry them otherwise. noses turn fragile and as cold as flag poles in the early morning air upon impact as winter turns its bitter fists against humanity. knees burn freezing and take the rest of the days hours to recapture a semblance of normal temperature when at 330 in the morning you are beckoned to work by way of 49.5 cubic centimeters of two wheeled transport. its tiring being the moped pirate of salem. tiring and treacherous, as winds carry you from yellow lines to white lines on the beaten pathways of pavement, and all you can do is hold on. with broken pencils for fingers you hold on and shift weight from one side of frozen ass cheek to the other to compensate for mother natures mocking your inability to find steady purchase on a machine not built for aerodynamics. but all complaints aside- there is no other way id rather travel. no other way that could define a man as well as this. no car could make me as happy during my commutes as these model airplane machines could. and no joy could come of pissing away money. money that would be put to good use in other avenues, such as thermal underwear for these frigid mornings that make me wonder all over again why i dont give in and buy a fucking car.