The air was crisp at at 5:45am. Around this time, it's still refreshing. It's Sunday and the streets are empty, having and giving us rest. I'm minding the road but I've zoned out the rest of the world. It's quiet, save for the faint hum of 25c wheels rolling on the asphalt, the snap of shifters, chains rotating through the 8-speed sprocket. The wind's on my face, my heart's pacing to a faster beat. The city is sleepy. There's a dew of sweat on my forearms. I rode a short loop with small climbs around Rockwell Bridge and Ayala Triangle, dropping by D.'s house in Mandaluyong, with a short coffee break for a flat white at the cafe near Legaspi Park.
I'm back home early enough for pan de sal and Sunday morning with my family.
In the evening, the beer is naturally cloudy with notes of coriander and orange peel. 500ml with a few pages of non-fiction.
It's a very short ride, relatively a smaller quantity of alcohol and an even shorter time to read, but my heart is full and content.
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