riding home

It’s midnight and I’m riding home and the streets are wet. I’m not too cold.

I stop to text “Yes, I have a huge boom box taped to my bike for this purpose.”

After a light, the road looks like someone spilled glitter on it. It’s really beautiful.

A car swerves angrily to the next lane to pass me an a dangerous and exaggerated fashion. Girls clip clop down the sidewalks in their high heels and puddles spray off my tires onto my jeans. Music flops out the bar windows with cigarette smoke like a fat belly over a belt line.

They are all drinking and celebrating.

I get some milk and some Junior Mints. The first goes in my shoulder bag, the second go in my pockets, and I’m nearly home, lights flashing.

I am going to wake up tomorrow feeling like a million dollars.