DAY NINETEEN

Every night, about two weeks before Christmas, my city holds a parade down Nickel Avenue. Yesterday, I was biking back from the Y just in time to see the last float cruise by. It was the Santa Clause float. And instead of wearing a red suit with white trim, he had on a red and white Target Patterned Suit. I didn’t know Target owned Santa Clause.

Anyways. Nickel Avenue is a two way street and the northbound lane was packed with cars that were waiting for the last float to move, so they could reclaim the road. I was headed south and apparently, I was the only one headed south as my lane was empty. In the middle of the block, someone in a big, black SUV decided his time was too important to waste in line. Before I knew it, there were two large headlights coming right at me, going THE WRONG WAY in my lane. So I raised a hand in gesture. It was the universal signal for “are you on steroids or have you gone completely mental?” The driver met my gesture with a comment as I passed his vehicle. “Get a car!” Oh, good one. Yeah. That’s my problem. I’m going the right way in the right lane on a bike. Beg your pardon, dipshit. I retorted with, “Fuck you!” And I was laughing when I said it, because hey, I want to keep things light, it being the holidays and all.