What must’ve he had thought, that snake? I mean, assuming a snake can have a thought. Had it not occurred to him that lying there soaking up the sun, in the middle of a busy urban trail, that he could be mistaken for a skinny tar patch?
When the front wheel rolled over him did he think ‘What the hell??!!!” followed by “OH COME ON!!” as the rear wheel carved over the same bit of his skinny snake body?
Was he alive? Judging by his posture, yes, and filled with righteous indignation. He reared up and looked accusingly at me and a sudden gathering of onlookers.
“Look, I don’t bite you and YOU don’t run me over with your prissy ass plastic bike.” Apparently we had an agreement.
I grab a stick, a really long one and stretching out, prod him gently towards the woods. A salty look, and he slithers off to safety, grumpy but chastened.
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