“You stupid, fat slag,” I say out loud, (Truthfully, I was sure I saw headphones in her ears) as my brakes make that "errrr" noise, and my balance was undetermined momentarily. (Oh yes, I know, shameful, but I didn't mean to say it out loud, or, at least, I didn't mean for her to hear me say it out loud)
“I can hear you,” says her voice as she rides away.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. I ride off after her, noting how far her arse was hanging off either side of her bike seat. (But, truthfully, us fag boys always think that, it is beyond our control)
“And you wonder why women bang on about misogyny,” she says.
“I’m not misogynistic,” I say.
“It sounded like it to me.”
"You got in my way..."
"And that is your excuse?"
“I’m gay,” I say. “Boy, or girl, you are all stupid, fat slags to me.”
“Oh,” she says. “You rude, filthy faggot.”
“Touché,” I say. "Good for you."
We both laugh, cackling as we ride along the bike path next to one another.
“What are we like?” she says.
“What are we like?” I say.
“Red ruby…”
“Slippers,” I say.
“Great minds…”
“Small minds,” I say.
“Think alike…”
“Seldom differ,” I say.
“I reckon I could like you,” she says.
“Funny the people you meet, hey?” I say, as I ride passed her. “Just a moment in time.”
“Criss cross,” she says.
“From bad, to great,” I say.
"Have a nice life," she says.
"It was lovely to meet you," I call back to her.
"You too," she calls after me.
She was having a leisurely ride with a basket of flowers on the front of her bike, her straw hat tied with a floral ribbon under her chin. I was exercising, so I rode away, my black leather racing gloves gripping my handle grips tight.
The sun came out.
It was a great day after all.
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