So, today is a friend’s Birthday and the funeral for another friend’s son. Life is so capricious. I just want to start writing more creatively, in the hopes that it will start my academic writing some. Here is the latest on Kiko’s adventures in NYC on a bike (It started here, and was last published here).
After they had each led for 20 minutes they went back the way they had come. Once they had returned to their starting point they rode over to a Persian market and drank bottles of pomegranate juice labled in Farsi, Arabic, Russian and Hindi. Croak, his lips glistening red, like blood said a few things to Mike that Kiko couldn’t follow. He then turned to Kiko and said “You are the real deal. Let’s teach you how to race and go win some prizes and give some surprises.”
“They’ll be shocked to see his stamina, and depressed when they see his sprint.”
“Watching his ‘brown eye’ cross the finish line first is going to erase a lot of smiles over in Central Park.”
Kiko listened and smiled only half understanding the import of these words.
On Wednesday of the next week when Kiko was back on Sra Choi’s bike two days into the week of bringing food to Manhattanites, as Kiko was rolling up Church Street with six scrambled egg sandwiches on rolls with bacon and cheese when Croak was suddenly riding beside him with a yellow messenger bag. The bag had a logo that was peeling off that looked like some sort of a snake eating its tail.
Looking down at Kiko’s bike, another colorful cycling hat starched into an impossible series of arcs and points, he said “so that’s what you train on,” cracking into a wide toothy smile that looked like the bottom half of his front wheel. The laughter that followed was infectious even though Kiko really hadn’t understood what he said. They rode to the apartment just below Houston on the West side laughing.
When Kiko came back out Croak was there holding the rear wheel an inch off the ground with his left arm and adjusting the rear derailer with a multipurpose tool. He smiled as he stood up taking a small can of aerosol oil (WD40) and spraying little puffs two places like perfume samplers in a department store, giving the crank a sharp little twist that sent the rear wheel spinning for the second before he put it down.