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.