A Philadelphian Conversation - Number Three

The doorbell rang and I assumed, because it had been snowing all day, that it would be Scott with a shovel. I set a little bowl of spaghetti down on the table and looked out the window to see who it was. Scott had already started shoveling, so I opened the door and told him I'd pay five dollars when he finished.

When he knocked on the door again, he said "You know they stole my bike" and I said "Really?" and he said "You don't seen me on it, do you?"

I shook my head to indicate that indeed, I had not seen him on it.

He said "My own people took it from me! My own people took my bike."

"How do you know that?"

"'Cause I couldn't catch 'em. They was too fast. I had it locked up and everything and they came up with one of them clippers and cut it loose." He sighed. "I had that bike fourteen years."

I told him about what happened to me a few months back when I was assaulted by a random person walking down the street, and how I got away before the guy and some other guy he was with were able to rob me, which, I told Scott, was certainly their intention. He said "You lucky man" and I gave him the five dollars and he turned to leave.

As he walked away, he shouted back to me "I'll get me another bike! You'll see! I'll get me another one!" The snow came down on him beneath the streetlights, and I realized it was coming down on me too.

Riding to South Philly (on Pure Slush)

(This week's micro story, Riding to South Philly, is one I submitted to Pure Slush for their 2014 travel theme. You can read it by clicking here. Thanks once again to Pure Slush's fantastic editor, Matt Potter.)

Tunnel Visions

Their four hooves to my two wheels. We're all going home, but they don't enter the tunnel, the horses. They'll trot over to 3rd Street. Displaced by developers, they walk further north than a few years ago.

Their four wheels to my two wheels. I'm always nervous in the tunnel. If a part fails or I slip and lose control, if I'm lying on the ground in pain, will someone stop to help or even slow down or just drive by and laugh? The tunnel only has one lane for cars. I think most are heading to North Philly, but I don't know.

Coasting downward, hustling upward. A banging base line, a screaming singer, a subtle humming: music from passing vehicles. An open top convertible glides, its passengers giddy. Tinted windows accelerate, their passengers hidden. An unavoidable puddle sprays my back as I ride through it.

They pass me but then I pass them when the light is red at Callowhill. Under the bridge to 95, waiting for green, I wonder whether this one legged man will ask me for change. He does and I give him a quarter. What if an eighteen wheeler loses control up above and crushes us both?

I always peddle slowly on that wide section of 5th Street that follows, basking in a brief sense of accomplishment. The tunnel's just one of ten to twenty minutes, one minute to remind me I've been lucky so far.