Lance Arthur writes an interesting tale of biking in the city.

The problem is that we inhabit this little weird space between pedestrian and full-blown actual gas-guzzling car. Pedestrians can flaunt their freedom, they can go where they like and give snotty looks, I know, I've been there. I've felt the power of holding up traffic, of thinking "you'll get there in plenty of time, you're in such a hurry, lives will not end if you aren't at Starbucks 8 minutes from now." I've contemplating dropping rolls of nickels in busy intersections and then taking the time to pick up every last one while every last car waits on me, feeling their hatred and derision like hot water bathing my whole soul.

I've also been behind the wheel, I've been the guy with sweaty palms in a rush to nowhere in particular, revving the engine, timing the amber, jackrabbitting off the line and gunning for the exit lane. I know what it's like to wait for the goddam pedestrian crossing the goddam street and doesn't he goddam know I have goddam places to goddam be right goddam now and how can it goddam take so goddam long to goddam cross the goddam street?

Sadly, I know exactly how he feels.

Mental note as well to add him into the "to read.." column.