It gets dark here early. Real early. So at 6:30 pm I was riding my beloved bicycle over to my sisters for dinner and all of a sudden it hit me. I was a fairly small mass, dressed in black. I was potential road kill. An accident waiting to happen. No helmut. No lights. No reflective clothing. No common sense obviously. Just my bottle of wine in the pannier and a hungry belly. And then I remembered. As kids we would ride our bikes around the neighborhood until someone’s mother called us all in. We didn’t care that we couldn’t see the handlebars in front of our face. We had our freedom, and enough adrenaline to ward off any bad karma. So I said ‘fuck it’, if some pendajo hits me while I’m ‘living the dream’ than I guess that’s the way life is supposed to roll. I did, however, borrow my sisters blinky lights for the ride home, feeling somewhat guilty at being so cavalier about my hard earned 54 years. Also my mom made me. Some things never change.
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