Gnarlboro

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The weather is hot of late: steamy heat with a fierce sun. It makes me feel the frantic passing of each little moment when I'm out of doors, as I imagine the time counting down before I burn.

So, entranced by the lure of shade, I walked behind the bike store on Franklin (Back Alley Bikes). There is a cool spot: shaded by cedar and sweet gum, in the shadow of the hotel and parking deck. I don't imagine any sun can filter into it, except perhaps the early morning, horizontal rays. 
Great eyes watch that place, tired, but never blinking. The real-life incarnation of T.J. Eckleburg, sprung from the pages of Gatsby. There are stunt ramps there, squeezed into the tiny space, newly finished we were told by the worker (owner?) inside. Just last week, in fact, FMX came down to do a show. I wished I could have seen it. I wished they were my eyes shining down. These are the nooks and crannies of the city that I want to know. Perhaps we can catch a future exhibition before we leave the Piedmont.

Susan, Tcheng (a service dog in-training), and I left with a robin-egg blue, brand, spankin' new bicycle - a graduation present. It bodes well: an omen of a fun summer, an ode to old times together and new memories to make.

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