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I take a ride every day on my bike. It takes me 30 minutes to get there and another to return. I have no problem with the weather usually, today was different...

I am descending home and it's hot. I wipe my brow and push on. Facing many uphills and downhills as well, I am trying to conserve every bit of my energy. My stamina is usually very high and it takes alot to get me down. I start to feel what seems like hunger. I begin to lean against the handlebars, supporting my body weight because I feel like I'm fading.

It seemed as if there was something in a ninety degree angle within my stomach. It was painful now. A hunger PAIN. I needed to get home fast. Suddenly an old man stops me and asks if I'd like bread. He was a man of the church and he would give out free bread and occasionally pies, each day. I took this opporunity to rest, because once I said "No thank you." He wouldn't let me go.

The man was very kind, and he was intelligent, into art as I am, a fellow artist, and had alot of stories to tell. After talking to him for over twenty minutes I spoke. "I'm very sorry. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Frank. I've enjoyed talking to you but I need to get home and rest and eat... and take a bath or something." He was very understanding "Oh yeaah! It's hot out here you gotta get home and I don't want you to pass out. This summer weather will kill ya." I smiled and kicked off once more.

The smile soon faded to an exasperated and distrought, open mouthed scowl.

Leaning against my handlebars heavily, I talked to myself. I needed to get home. "I have to... get home now. I need food, I'm gonna die if I don't..." I spoke these words to myself repeatedly. I was only about 5 minutes from my home. Every minute was an hour, and my body became weaker and heavier as I tried to squeeze the last bits of strength from my body. I felt feint signs of defecation coming. Diarrhea, a sign of dehydration. My endurance was shot and my life was on a thread. I spoke to myslef with words of encouragement. "I can make it. I will make it. I have to make it." I am coming close and I now know if I can just get these last few minutes I will be home. Finally I enter the parking lot which leads to my backyard gate. I make it to the gate and carry my bike to my yard where I lock it away.

I ran in and flopped on the couch panting and letting out coughs. My mother is going insane wondering if I'm okay. I simply ignore this and chant "Mom... need food. Now, please!" She hurried into the kitchen and made me something and brought me in a large bottle of Gatorade.

So now here I am, a bit sweaty but I'm good. My body has regained it's life and I tell you my story. I'm glad I made it home. And I am glad you read. But now I have one think to ask of you... was this a heatstroke?

Yeah yeah, yeah boiiii!!111 I'ma cap yo mamma. Nickuh gimme a nickel bag so I can smoke dat shiey in mah curr, and do me some bitches. Yeah boi it's too fousand and fo'! Yeah yeah boi, I hate white pepole cause day be hatin on mah pimp game in my car that I smoke weed in. Sheah boi i like me some new sneakers every week young jawn. I love mah babies mama but we threw away da baybee. Nickuh I am just trying to tell you that I love me some drugs and my gold teefs dat look brown...

Gangster talk.