Mown down


I was nearly mown down. 
By a cyclist no less.

I was walking, minding my own business. When he came from nowhere.

A bullet ricocheting, a hazy, crazy, zig-zag flash of mammal on metal.

I sidestepped.


A language I don’t speak, but I understood every word. 

The bullet ignored the instruction and maintained velocity.

His mum yelled again. His sister followed, a blur of pink and tassels and minion rucksack. Behind them another and another and another. 

I stood still and let them pass. The manic kids and the flustered mums and the resigned Dads and the oblivious elder siblings, lost in their phones. Its impossible to cage enthusiasm.

A madcap, crazy, comical school run from Splott to Adamsdown; a diverse part of the city. Lovely to see a human tide of mini-cycle commuters on the bridge up top.

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