It’s Christ-like, he thinks. The way he moves over the pavement, gliding up and down hills without expending any energy, just like Jesus did over that lake or whatever. Jesus never exerted himself when going anywhere and neither should he, he thought. All made in his image, right? Well, Jesus did have the whole crucifixion thing, which was obviously pretty tiring, so maybe it’s the Holy Ghost he was thinking of, or maybe just ghosts in general. Either way, it felt Christ-like. The flow of traffic at his command. Commandments. Ten Commandments. There it was, another Jesus-ish tie-in. This was an obvious sign.
No one passes him. No one dares. They respect his power. His movement. His powerful movement up the Dunsmuir bike lane, hands on hips, sunglasses on, Hoverboard™ roaring, parting the spandex cyclist sea. Crossing the viaduct he looks at the Vancouver skyline and takes in its beauty. The penthouse condo near Science World that he Hovers™ past every day on his commute is still there waiting for him. It is patient. It will be his. When it is he’ll have lavish rooftop parties and only people who truly respect him will be invited. Except for Topher from Registration, Topher can come and be humbled by the wealth he will have amassed by then. Then when Topher can no longer handle his success and will have undoubtedly drunk himself stupid from envy, he’ll get Topher a cab and watch him go, speaking softly into his ear before helping him in, and the party-goers will be in awe of his compassion for all people, even those that don’t respect him. Just like Jesus would. Traffic breaks and car horns blare beside him. Fuck you, Topher, he whispers into the future’s ear.