The Ghost of the Broadway Tunnel

P lease indulge me by listening to my tale. I was a messenger for a good couple of years. I prided myself on my ability to work under any state of mind. I worked for a good company. I did 40 tags a day. I bought a road bike. I demanded more work. I showed up earlier than my dispatcher. I worked until the rest of the board had gone home. Still, I wasn't satisfied. What was it? I remember imagining my life as a messenger as this race to be won... I don't know if you can sympathize... I was always in a hurry. I cared about the job, I did it well, but I was always out to prove it.

I was always out to prove it. And I think subconsciously I made this challenge, and that was my undoing.
One winter morning I was working the rust out of my chain by chasing imaginary foes. Man, I was so fast back in the day nothin' real would suit me. I pretended I was chased by cops, or in this case, I was after the thief of my bicycle. I imagined I had just knocked over some kid and grabbed their bike so I could pursue the motherfucker. Okay, so I had my morning tweek on big deal. Well... I always had a tweek or two on... big deal.

I was going through the Broadway Tunnel, mach 3, warp 7, fast. I was achieving that connected feeling you get when everything is in sync. You are attuned to the traffic, nobody moves their foot to the brake before you know it, even 5 car lengths ahead. It's as if it all passes through you before, before it goes to you. Know what I mean? The bicycle disappears and in place is a simple motion that carries you further, farther. Your ankles have wings. Know what I'm sayin'? I was in one of those hyper-athletic frames of mind, some kind of peaceful frenzy. That's when I saw the ghost.

It was a messenger, right? I mean I knew 'cause of the Zo bag. No one I had seen before. And they were going apeshit. Mach 1000, warp 9 million, passing cars! They had zinged past me on the left, like I said too fast to believe. Passing cars wasn't the least of it, they were passing through the cars! As though they were made of air. That took me down a notch. There was somebody crazier, or was I going crazy?

I have since answered that myself... I chased the ghost out of the tunnel. The whole time they were this wavering smudge of color and light, like the dreadlocked alien in Predator, only I could see the bastard a bit better. I guess. I even got a look at the bike, but aside from its color and general frame type, all I could tell you is, the motherfucking ghost rode flat tires! They were the last thing I saw before the whole apparition vanished absolutely out of sight.

"Hey, hey, it's Kite. I just saw a fucking ghost!" I called my dispatcher immediately always eager tell him something new. I worked for a small company so it was the pager life. Some days that was all that kept me going, just the expectancy of talkin' to my dispatcher. I mean he was funny and shit. I figured this time he'd have to be impressed.

He wasn't. "Are you clean yet? I got a pick up over there. It's kinda old too so..."

"Listen, I, no shit, just saw a ghost..."

"In the Broadway tunnel?"

"In the Broadway tunnel."

"Oh great..." Then he said something to That Guy Who Was Always In The Office Too and then to me, "Was the ghost riding a road bike with flat tires?"

"Ye-yeah. YEAH! How did you know?"

"Uh, never mind..." Then he gave me the nearby tag and I rode the rest of the day in a daze.
I told other messengers about the ghost and their reply was similar, often they would seem to avoid me later. No one was the slightest bit interested in the ghost but they all sorta knew about it. When I would go into the office to get manifests my dispatcher/boss would look at me with weepy sympathetic eyes and then say "I'm sorry."
I became a poor rider. I was always standing by the Broadway tunnel, waiting, hoping. I would go far out of my way to ride through it. Finally I was fired.
Now I have all the time in the world to find this ghost, and that is all I ever do. I sleep in the tunnel. I never leave. I have run out of patches, so I just ride the rims. I am the ghost of the Broadway tunnel, but no one cares to
see me. Pray you don't see me, you know what will happen. I warned you.

-Cole Miller

"Those hits of acid for ants are really, really small." ­Chet Von Zipper

"Sesame Street's getting downright astral. What you see is what you're looking for." ­Jr.