Dear Mink
It’s raining a soft drizzle on a Muskrat’s whiskerless
cheeks. His stiff eyebrows
wiggling beneath his tweed newspaper boy cap Muskrat smiles and tugs at the
ripped olive green wool Harris Tweed further down over his soft blue eyes. Peddling his small frame around in
circles, an evening bike ride with headphones and songs about trains, Muskrat
savors the small sharp drops dancing across his naked cheeks. The neighborhood park is quiet a few
days past the Fourth of July and he lets his peddling slacken a bit as his mind
wanders. The beach cruiser he had
inherited from that marbled polecat Mink needed new brake pads and some love,
affection and oil; otherwise she was in perfect riding shape in the garage. For now his father’s old dark green French-made
road bike carried his little frame leisurely through the darkened Albuquerque
side streets in those perfect moments just before the streetlights hummed their
evenings into being. We may not
have paparazzi lightning bugs flashing their bulbs at your every move down here
in the desert, but the haphazard blinking of ageing streetlights shutting off
as Muskrat peddled by passed for an electrical grid inspired insult and shrug of
their wooden post slight. The
sudden shutting off of street lights as he rode past for some reason always
offended Muskrat, it was as if his mere presence made the street lights turn
themselves off, he did not emit enough consequence to the world to waste their
precious electricity on, let this slight framed blue eyed Muskrat amble his way
home in the dark.
As always Live free, live simple, ride free, ride hard, breath in the fresh air, Solidarity forever amigos.
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