Holding My Breath
It wasn’t until the air grew still that I realized I was holding my breath, completely absorbed in the standoff. The tension between the bikers and the trucker was palpable, thickening the space around us, yet there was still no resolution in sight. We were all caught in a limbo, waiting for the inevitable clash or perhaps an unexpected peace. Every second stretched out, laden with potential, as if the moment were suspended in time.
I could feel the pulse of anticipation vibrating through the crowd, its intensity growing with each passing second. We were all locked in this collective moment, unsure of what would come next, yet certain that whatever it was, it would change everything. It was a strange mix of excitement and dread, like the calm before a storm, and I could sense the crowd—myself included—holding on to the edge of something that was bound to break.
