Into the Night

You fling yourself out the door into the wind and start to row yourself down the steep hill with your standard issue steel stick, working it along the dark path, clickety-click, clickety-click. It’s a path you would know with your eyes closed, the old Richmond Hill you cycled up and down as a boy, in all weathers, coming and going from the house perched on top. You shuttle along at first, Taking full advantage of your exit velocity, clickety- click, clickety-flop against the rail, breathe heavily, rattle on. At the bottom, you tilt into Patrick Street and fluorescent lighting, poke at the white rounds winking on the ground, checking for coins, finding gum. You have forgotten your glasses, and so your vision is that of a small subterranean animal, tunnelling with its forepaws. Staggering now, you keel against walls, your flittered left hip giving way. A passer-by gives you a second glance, wonders. Your cap is pulled tightly over the bald eyebrows you shave off every other day, along with cheek bristle.