It materialized, and I had missed her. Again. I said ‘her’ although it could be a man. My gut confirmed it was her. Why did she torment me? Why did I obsess?
Her story grew in my mind. With the consistency of each sunrise, her bicycle arrived, parked at my door by one o’clock and by three it was gone. She was meeting her lover; she was a spy stalking her mark. She was my aberration, my ghost, my diversion.
Then her bicycle wasn’t there. Weeks passed. I feared she ...