Three on the traffic lights, two on the no entry sign. To a friend, to a workmate, to a much loved Dad.
A life untimely ended, at the end of Cycle Superhighway 2. An Olympic worker, on his way to the office, never arrived.
One week on from the unfortunate accident, a reconstruction was held. At the height of Monday's rush hour, did you see anything, were you there?
Family and friends come together to remember, to bear witness, to pray it never happens again. The widow's pleas make page 27 of the Evening Standard, and barely a mention in other mainstream media.
After work I go down to the Flyover to see the fresh flowers. I walk beside the Cycle Superhighway. Thereisnothingsuperaboutit.
Now you see it, now you don't. Now it passes through a parked car. Now it disappears into a bus stop. Now it swings out into open traffic. Now it narrows down to half a lane. Now it's blocked by queueing vehicles. Now it broadens out to an advanced stop line. Now it continues invitingly across the roundabout. Now they see you, now they don't.
Brian's funeral takes place in Twickenham on Friday. The blue stripe remains.
