The kids, around a dozen of them, are draped artfully over and around the Citibike stand at the end of the block. I watch them laughing, shouting at each other, tugging at the docked bikes, trying on various attitudes of cool, or sexy, and then forgetting and throwing their heads back to scream or suddenly staring off into the distance with a look of intense concentration.
I have my headphones on, listening to music, the beats rattling around the inside of my skull to make their own, larger space between my ears, and I walk within a few feet of the kids. For some reason I feel very vulnerable but the magic bubble of sound I carry in my pocket buoys me right past them, as if I’m floating several feet overhead, even as one of them shouts something at me I can’t quite hear.
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