All in life

pizza town

The crowd at the counter spills out the door and into the street making it nearly impossible to get in or out, but with their mix of English banter and Italian insults, the red shirts keep the line moving so nobody has to wait very long.  

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Will today be the day I set a new personal record? I’ve already walked the route, assessing the conditions - noting the obstacles.  The weather is good.  I’m hydrated.  I like my chances.


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The stoplight ahead turns red and I’m saved for a moment.  We stand there, each one exaggerating our nonchalance, trying not to breathe too heavy or lean on the bike as a sign of weakness.

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gotta run

 I remember wondering why adults moved so slowly, and then I became an adult and I lost the run, too.  The run just atrophied away like playing the piano and remembering grocery lists and other things I used to be able to do.


men of letters

The shop of my childhood was a relic of the mechanical age: oily and unguarded.  Belts, flywheels and blades were fully exposed.  Solvents and cigarettes were held in the same hands. It was a place so obviously dangerous that I can’t remember ever needing to be told to be careful.

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