Bikes
A black bike I can't afford
I stopped beneath the shop lights, staring at the black road bike: slim frame, deep wheels, drop bars curled like a dare. It cost more than I could spare, so I traced its route on the fogged window instead—over the bridge, past the harbor, up the dark ridge. Someday, I told myself, those wheels would carry me there.
Oskar Falk
The bike shop on the corner has a carbon road bike in the window. Black, no logos you can see, wheels so deep they look solid. It costs more than my first car.
I walk past most days. Sometimes I go in and ask a question I know the answer to, just to stand near it.
The plan
I am saving. Slowly. By the time I have the money it will be an old model. I don't mind. It will still be the bike in the window.
