I’m riding the electrical current of an Electric bicycle along Bates Avenue, With a Cool Running soundtrack On full readout. The street is level, the sun squat, the air velour, the grass snapped, and no birds will look at me. I tread about a turn and Stop To breathe in the gander.
A void jumps loose From the surrounding frame and Pigeon slips its way towards me at a Half run-walk shuffle.
The shuffle turns into a lope and it Jumps in front.
About my height with a solid heft edging Over “blue mesh shorts, a black t-shirt, and a shitty little ‘stach” (my police description). He’s young and his eyes are Wild and desperate and Candy coated With lumps of happy menace.
“Gimme your fucking bike man! You gotta gun?” He reaches clownishly for a killing-thing which Never appears. “Yah I gotta gun, looks like you have one too, lemme see yours.” I say, but he doesn’t hear. His brain is too self-caved to caveat the wound that weeps my words, And foam from his mouth continues to drip drop on Top of me.
He reaches for the wheels, the chains, the spokes, and fumbles As I struggle against him, locked tight To the bike — My most precious babe.
See, I’m on a test drive from a store down the street. “An electric bike. Well well, only $800,” I thought. “Cool. I’ll take her out for a spin, go on a little adventure.” And I do not Have The money.
“Where’s your gun?!” But he won’t produce, vamoose, or let go So I keep crab locked as his spittle flecks Against my face in little spouts.
“I’m fuckin crazy man. You know how crazy I am?” Well… He seems pretty crazy. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” But there is no gun. That much I can tell. So with a smile crawling to grimace I tell him, Much too politely, That sorry but no, he can’t have it. “It isn’t mine to give.”
“Fuckin give me your bike!” He clutches against me like a Lifeline lover, Stumbling through from side to side with little tremors Of aggression.
The anger at his hand and in his throat, Though clear in existence, Is muddy in pursuit.
His face crushes closer, eyes tinted By a pale thick immaturity of thought, lost In hallucinogenic Ice cream headaches.
“I need it to get to my girlfriend man!”
A new development! Am I somehow in the middle of an epic romance? A wanderer intersecting the dirty hub of fate’s fortune? Could this moment turn his life around? And mine as well!?
Swelling us forward on the same giddy tide That rides his eyes To spear-pop goodtime Pop Rocks, Sprint our human claws forward along the Normandy storming beach, And Anti-Rage the Anti-Christ into a hippie blister cloud burst!
A silver gleam domes forward alongside our violent thrash and honks.
I don’t know whether it’s at me or at him, If the lady shouting words and noises and wails out her window is Upset or simply tired of Watching, But the result is that the guy, This tan-massed dreamer of befuddled lividity, Is distracted, Cannoning away from me to Lash rhapsodically at her car for a few moments, And then quick as oil sizzle; Rears back into the ether.
Gone. The metal collapsed next to me a wracked and pitiful thing. My face covered in unknown moistures, And the day
“You asshole, I yell. “You dumb shit! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
The whole world was our oyster You schmuck. It was a new beginning — I felt pregnant!
The two of us on that asphalt that day, lousing it out… For a moment there, I really thought We could have had it all.