I feel bad that I disappeared with the twelve-pack of Rainier that Topher mostly paid for, but sometimes, you just get separated, and sometimes the separation is confounding enough that it seems the Universe is explaining to you that it’s time to pedal home even though it’s still well before midnight on an almost perfectly clear perfect night for being out on two wheels.
I lost track of taillights leaving the market and so chose my own adventure to the next bridge but when I arrived it was deserted and so, reasonably (I thought) concluding that I couldn’t possibly have arrived in front, headed to where I thought things were headed afterwards.
I was met only with a fabulous view of downtown, a lonely fire, and an angry dog which, taken together, I took as evidence for homeward bounding and so, soon enough, found myself pulling up in my backyard—warm, dry, and sated.
Half an evening, half a story, and with an unopened half-rack to boot.
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