A capacitor, if I understood tehJobies explanation, as he pointed it out to me in the technological bowels of the space-age music bike, is a device that holds a charge so as to deliver power instantaneously when the overall energy needs of the system call for it, in order (and here I’m probably paraphrasing) to ensure that the requisite highs, lows, and overall output is maintained at the desired face-melting levels for as long as necessary.
.83 metaphor much?
The capacities of your average summer solstice Thursday night bike ride are never exceeded, not, anyway, when you get to circle a soaking Ghettodrome while the bike-mounted sound system drowns out the fountain’s philharmonics and you’re having to calibrate your distance from the sonic cycle’s subwoofer so that you’re not blown off your saddle by decibels alone.
Sometimes the purr of your chain and the squish of your tires in the wet is enough; other times, it’s great to have a soundtrack, especially when the drizzle turns to a downpour and passing busses fill shoes with gallons of rainwater.
Fortunately, there are places for nights like this in our town and our very own homeless Prometheus to bring the fire to life; too bad references get confused and he goes all Icarus on things; moral of the story: you fly too high and get sticky-fingered around people’s bikes and a neon-colored solar flare will burn you outta town fast as any capacitor delivering its charge.
You don’t get your liver eaten by eagles for all eternity, then, but you do miss what happens when fizzy drinks and roaring flames combine with sonic booms to send shirts and knickers flying and what had been simple sausage fest somehow morphs into a real banquet on the dance floor.
Miraculously, Jobydrinks do make you better-looking and more intelligent; same for everyone else, too; that’s that capacitor again, delivering just the burst you need when you need it, and even when you don’t.
.83 metaphor much?
The capacities of your average summer solstice Thursday night bike ride are never exceeded, not, anyway, when you get to circle a soaking Ghettodrome while the bike-mounted sound system drowns out the fountain’s philharmonics and you’re having to calibrate your distance from the sonic cycle’s subwoofer so that you’re not blown off your saddle by decibels alone.
Sometimes the purr of your chain and the squish of your tires in the wet is enough; other times, it’s great to have a soundtrack, especially when the drizzle turns to a downpour and passing busses fill shoes with gallons of rainwater.
Fortunately, there are places for nights like this in our town and our very own homeless Prometheus to bring the fire to life; too bad references get confused and he goes all Icarus on things; moral of the story: you fly too high and get sticky-fingered around people’s bikes and a neon-colored solar flare will burn you outta town fast as any capacitor delivering its charge.
You don’t get your liver eaten by eagles for all eternity, then, but you do miss what happens when fizzy drinks and roaring flames combine with sonic booms to send shirts and knickers flying and what had been simple sausage fest somehow morphs into a real banquet on the dance floor.
Miraculously, Jobydrinks do make you better-looking and more intelligent; same for everyone else, too; that’s that capacitor again, delivering just the burst you need when you need it, and even when you don’t.
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