By Michael Todd Steffen
In a Perfect World She could have said, You’re in that truck, I’m on this bike! She could have claimed her right of way— the traffic jammed, a short space opening with him in the left-turn lane lurching into an arc, her in that same gap pedaling out and him pounding on his horn, God lady! You— But instead, the handlebars wobbling, her front tire nosing left and right, she said, Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I am human. Gee. People make mistakes, you know… And the man’s voice modulated from centaur back into a man’s voice, I just want you to be safe as he waved her over onto the island in the middle of the street, his elbow relaxed in the open truck-door window and another thing came across truer than my patience tensing for them both as I stood there waiting for the crosswalk signal.
photo by Nikolay Vorobyev
Mason Street 