Remora

I ride my bike back from the flea market, and the traffic down 4th Avenue in Brooklyn flows around me like a school of sharks intent on some other prey. They might get me, but it would only be an incidental kill.

Still, I feel strong, and brave, and skillful, masterful in my ability to stay alive amidst so much swift, murderous steel and indifference. 

Then a guy on a skateboard, sweatshirt and rolled up pants, no helmet, lit cigarette in one hand, smoothly glides past me on the downhill towards Union, sailing through traffic as if he belonged there, no more or less a part of it than the remorseless cars, effortless. 

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One year ago today: Alone Together

Two years ago today: Where Are You Going? Where Are You From?

Three years ago today: Dinner and a Show

Four years ago today: Not that different