(no subject)
Riding home tonight with the remnants of my equilibrium, I heard crickets. They live in the railroad track, I'm sure of it. I tried to ride on the rail embedded in East Street and when I could coax my wheels to line up upon it, I found the ride to be much lighter. I spread my jacket like a nocturnal-crime-fighter and rode without hands. Up ahead, I watched a silent ambulance announced by its peppermint stick lights cross east street onto the back road of the Assisted Living Home. My jacket and I became the soul of an agēd one taking flight. The Crickets and I celebrated the life of one dearly departed or soon to depart and then we went home.