He
was riding a blue vintage Raleigh, but it really wasn't the bike
I noticed first. As I walked out of the corner store towards my bike
he glided by, with a smile and a big uprush of hair. It didn't take
me long to catch up, riding behind him on Queen Street in Toronto's East
End, on my way home.
I had some time to think, to devise a plan of
approach, a casual introduction. I had decided that if we hit a red
light, I would make a move. I had not thought of a proper opening
line, since I was trying to decide if fate was playing a hand at
offering only steady greens. But at last, just a block past my street, a red!
As I rolled in behind, I exclaimed, "Nice bike". I
didn't have a lot of time to think of the shortcomings of this
particular opener because he turned without any hesitation and
replied in his very French accent, "Mikael Jackson is dead".
A little startled at the news, first, because I hadn't known and
second because, I thought it to be a much better opening line.
And
so, off we went riding along side each other, discussing the pop
star's life and times, our voices rising above the clank and whistles
of Toronto's street cars.
Three
years on, his blue Raleigh is still a very nice bike.
