A Courtship

A Courtship
I am riding down Broadway. The ice has melted and I can bike again; without gloves, even. I am wearing a bike helmet and a snorkel jacket that may have been stolen from a seven-year-old Canadian boy, with a dorky strobe light strapped to my right arm. I sing a made-up song about snow.

The road is clear for blocks ahead, but I notice a car driving slowly beside me. The driver’s window is down.
‘Can I ask you something, Miss?’
I reach back to check my mudguard, which people have been warning me about all week.
‘I know, it’s broken…’
‘You know you are pretty, right?’
‘Yes, very pretty,’ he continues cheerfully. ‘I would like to go to bed with you.’

Alas, I am not sleepy yet. As I turn left on Bleecker St. I wonder, has this approach ever worked for him? And if so, what did the happy couple do with her bike?

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