by David Kish
They lack the body fat to make it through the winter, so they travel in small packs, sometimes three or four abreast, often blocking the shared paths and causing bigger animals to slow to a crawl.
After a calorie-burning circuit, they prance about the cafe in special shoes, wrap-around shades and flamboyant spandex. The wind has eroded their faces into perma-scowls. Like preening birds, they display their fantastic colors against the beige stucco. And then, they tweet to each other. They exchange survival tips: divorce lawyers; hot stocks; protein recipes ... until the last drop of decaf, sugar-free, soy-milk java has been imbibed, when they rise as one, seemingly through mnemonic resonance, and place their thousand-dollar bicycles into their 8-cylinder vehicles, and migrate back to their familiar suburban stomping grounds.