Instead

Surely, there are better things to do.

You could devote your evening to the cause of global human rights, taking whatever means necessary to curtail widespread human rights violations under El Salvador’s “State of Emergency,” or in Ukraine, where Russian forces tortured detainees in the city of Izium, or in India, where police killings are routine and endemic.

Or you could make music.  Or art.  Or write the next Great American Novel—or at least Pretty Good Local ‘Zine.  Or whip up a delicious four course meal using only items procured by bicycle from your local Farmers’ Market.

You could watch a hockey game.  Or some basketball or baseball.  Or surf the Worldwide Web for videos of cats.

You could even just take a nap—with or without having had a few drinks beforehand.

Instead, however, you ride your bike to the usual Thursday night meeting place, quaff a lukewarm brew while noting the musical choices of the resident hobo DJ, and then spin across the manmade industrial waterway to climb up a parking garage whose football-field sized roof affords a stunning view of one slice of our fair city just as the sun sets behind purple, fuchsia, and pink cirrus clouds.

You then skim the University and public transportation’s space-age infrastructure to meander on two wheels along the usual meandering path before provisioning up at the generous local retailer.

And then, along the taken-for-granted trail through the woods to the giant park where frogs sing your welcome and all are reunited for a short wiggle along the water to the secret glade.  And that’s where you congregate for the next little while or longer, enjoying the unseasonably warm evening in what’s shaping up to be a remarkably remarkable spring, at least in the weather department.

So, you could have made the world a better place.  Or cooked a spectacular feast.  Or seen your favorite team lose or prevail as the case may be.

But this instead.