Her milky white calves sit like marble between slim trainers and smart black trousers, wait patiently above the petals. She rests (the week is long). The asphalt colours green and blue with the passing of storefronts. His Lycra-sheathed legs pump up and pump down and then wait too, suspended as ahead green turns to orange turns to red of a bloodless sunrise. Wind ripples the sides of his high-vis jacket. For a moment, metal bikes grey with the a rising tide of London soot, rubber wheels slick with morning rain, two arched backs and four tense forearms are parallel, caught in the stream at the same time. Then she brings her shoulders forward and one foot down (the other foot up) and lazily leaves him behind.
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