A sky full of radiant imagery proceeded the sunrise atop the ground fog several stories out from where he stood in the quickly climbing glass sided elevator. Leaning against the steel cool shell of the already three quarters filled lift, midtown carrier Michel Ives glanced at his watch and calculated delivery time for his first letters in footsteps. He preferred service elevators this time of day but an incoming business had them all tied up. As the doors opened yet another time he cursed his luck and became annoyed the oncoming passengers were tourists and taking their time enjoying the awe of being in a skyscraper. Looking out over the shoulder of a fellow passenger he could see his reflection in the glass and wondered if anyone noticed him like they do the tourists? You would think a guy in skintight bicycle pants with matching yellow and black jersey, wearing shoes colored in Seattle Seahawks green and blue might draw some notice? Messenger’s attire is far different from wingtips and three hundred dollar business suits yet every bit as expensive; just another rat in the race in a hurry to get somewhere other than here. He would die if tied to a desk illuminated by blue screens and would kill himself for sure speeding around in a pair of wingtips! Chuckling to himself he thought about the need for speed in the age of technology. A piece of communication can be half way around the world in seconds, but the backbone of it all was the stuff he huffed and puffed around the city within his leather satchel one bicycle revolution at a time. The door opened and he was off down the hall, and never looking back or thinking about the dress code or tourists again that day.