On my bicycle

I bike to work in the morning; in the nascent heat wave. 98°F at 8. The road looks fuzzy because of my dirty sunglasses. The world is incredibly perfect when you're on a bike, swift, efficient, slightly sweaty, perfect. It smells like trees and brown bread.

I watch the Berlin girls in their shorts, long bruised legs, perfect skin, black tattoos on their shoulders. I watch the men, tall, square, casual.

I'm a watcher on my bike. I forget my sadness. I forget how hot it is, how I can already feel my heart beating between my ribs because the heat makes me nervous.

And I want to tell you that I'm OK. I'm not lost, I'm just biking around because I like feeling free.

I know where I'm going.