Sloan chokes the motor, grumbling: "what gears, what pistons, what sockets..."
But then she turns the wheel so we can slide under the stoplights like a quarter pushed into a laundromat washer.
She says: "it's better to accelerate with only your toe on the pedal. It's one more balancing act."
She says: "the pedal rocks back and forth to accommodate you. You can keep it at one end or the other easy but I like the middle."
Sloan is held aloft by several invisible wires. As if when she twists in the air you can hear their anchors sliding.
Like the sockets on tracklights. Like little bullet trains.
Sloan is held aloft by braided steel.
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