Sil road down Ditmars and her bright yellow sweater almost got stuck between herself and the bike. It fit too close between the bike and her self.
She looked so free riding down the avenue. Her hair blew her sweater blew even her small white socks somehow seemed to blow in the wind of the avenue.
She wanted to blow as well. To feel the wind pick up her face and her sore arms and tight legs and blow them first into little pieces and then blow them above them through the sky ahead. Not in any esoteric or life threatening way, but in a real no fences or tight pieces separating the parts of her mind or keeping her in moments she didn’t want to be.