Roger

"Aw, man not again", he said as he caught his bike just as it was about to slide on the muddy road. It was raining. For a week now, the icy cold droplets danced their rhythmic pitter patter on the nearly frozen pavement, the dancers and the instrument, being one and the same: "plic-plac--plic-plac". Roger didn’t mind the rain.. It kept the streets clean, Roger also didn't mind dirt. He was glad the cold shower had cleaned the streets of all these charlatans and nonchalant who walked without seeing.. Driven by their destination, their trip having no other purpose than their goal.

There is more to getting there than just, getting there… He pondered for a moment, but he didn't ponder much. After all he had something to do … With a determined hand he grabbed his torn up high hat from the bicycle's basket, and sent it rolling up his sleeve with a flick of the wrist, till it took off from his shoulder and landed on his head. He swung around and bowed to an invisible audience, imagining the applause his reflection was giving him from behind the puddle.