The other night I rode the A Train to Brooklyn. I got off at Hoyt-Schmeerhorn. The next C train was 15 minutes away and I decided to bike the short distance to Myrtle Avenue.
I climbed the stairs to ground level and set out home.
Unfortunately a car swerved into the bike lane to alter my path and my front wheel dropped into a grating. My impetus halted instantly and I flew over my handlebars without a thought for self-preservation.
My mouth faceplanted on the pavement.
Like I had been suckered by Sonny Liston.
I stood up, expecting to spit out teeth.
Several people rushed up and asked if I was okay.
“I’m not okay.” I spit out a little blood, but no teeth. Blood spewed from wounds to my legs and arms. “Fuck, but I ain’t fucked either.”
I straddled my bike and slowly rode to 387.
Hurt and knowing that tomorrow the hurt would only be worse.
Right leg.
Left upper thigh.
Busted face.
We Neanderthals will outlive Homo Sapiens, because we don’t care about possessions.
Only love.