Yesterday evening I was having a smoke on my balcony. When I'm still coming down from the day I tend to lean into the balcony wall and dangle myself over it, with a few feeble pliés thrown in for good measure. What else is there to do when you're just standing there? (It's all part of the music video that is my life.) So, I was in this position yesterday evening when, down in the street below, a man wobbled past on a bicycle.
What fascinated me was that he was wearing a very smart black suit and a crisp white shirt. He had shiny, black formal shoes, doing their best to look convincing on the pair of pedals, sunglasses and dark hair, peppered with grey. And I wondered, what on earth was he doing on a bicycle? I imagined a gleaming Roadster, or a Jag, would be the order of the day. But there he was on his bike! What made it more amusing for me, was that I could tell by the rate at which his legs were pumping, he was in "granny gear". He looked as uncomfortable as his look.
He looked up and caught me watching him. I should have smiled. But I wanted to look, oh I don't know, pensive. (It's all part of the movie that is my life.) He cycled on, watching me all the while. I dragged on my ciggie, watching him all the while. And then he took the corner and was gone.
Corporate-man-on-bike. I will never know you, or your story. I'll never understand why you chose to ride that day. You were there for a few seconds and then you were gone. And if I hadn't gone out to feed my habit I would never have spotted you. Or be left wondering.
But, you on your bike, in your suit, makes me feel alive and real, because not every thing is supposed to make sense.
