Two Men, Two Bicycles

The other night, I cut through the park on my way home in the early evening, an older man biked past me, then turned round. "Can I ride beside you?" He inquired. "It's not a good idea to walk alone." No, but thank you, I'm fine, I smiled curtly and continued walking, trying to keep brusque from my voice and brisk from my pace. " He continued on his way at a slower pace looking back every now and then, waited at the exit to ensure that I made it through alive. As he rode off, leaving my safety to the cars along the street, I felt bad for my horrified first thought of "So that's how I die."

This morning, I bundle breezed through the park, grey water and grey tights, past the buildings and green spaces the City Beautiful as referenced at Friday's panel. And then the one I like best, on his bicycle, with mittens and scarf and a hair cut. He used old fashioned expressions ("Good gracious, is that this week?") and continues to steal my heart to the point where I am walking about my blood and lungs powered not by biology but blue green grey eyes. So that's how I die.

The new Paris Review will have Lydia Davis & Frederick Seidel, so there's also that. Look, it's Fred Seidel on a motorcycle! The internet will always have what I need!