19 July 2011

July 19, 2011

I saw a little boy riding a little girl’s bike. It was pink. The boy was black. There were white streamers coming off the handle bars, flapping in the wind. It had training wheels, this bike, but neither of them seemed to touch the ground. He was riding so fast, I thought the paint might come off in sharp, metallic flakes.

There’s a man who walks around my apartment complex with a walker. Luther. I asked Luther what happened, and he said he broke his back.

Viktor Frankl says that most people ask life what it means. That’s a mistake, he says. Life is asking us.

Everyone knows that Sunkist Orange Soda is way, way better than Fanta.

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