Two more cyclists followed within minutes. The first was hit square across the front. He shouted something and veered sharply, spraying water from his jacket as he swore. The second tried to dodge, but still caught a full blast along his left side. Neither stopped. But neither looked happy either.
By 8:45, another passed through—this one slowing briefly at the edge of the yard before turning back. Clarence narrowed his eyes. A pattern was forming. He didn’t expect miracles. But perhaps he had their attention.