ALL THE WONDERFUL CYCLING

commutingstories:

Anne stood against the bridge railing and looked out over the street stretching from underneath it. The street ran next to the river and except for the occasional motorcycle or scooter it was empty. “I use to come by this road everyday,” she said. “I rode on the back of my dad’s motorcycle. He…

SEPTEMBER, OCTOBER

commutingstories:

2. Warmth


The water pouring into the bathtub is freezing. I put my hand underneath the faucet stream and it chills to the bone. Maybe it’s the heater. It’s cold with a rainstorm outside. In our room, condensation is collecting along the window frames. We weren’t in the valley anymore. I thought a getaway with Anne would do us some good. I turn the handle all the way left, all the way into the red, and keep my hand there, waiting. Still cold.

SEPTEMBER, OCTOBER, SACRAMENTO

Stories for Commuting:

A fragment, in a series of fragments, that I hope to paste together into something greater than the sum of its parts.

1. Grass Valley

A little over half a year ago, Anne and I took a day trip up to Lake Tahoe in the Sierra Nevadas. It was one of the things we did on her short holiday…

SEE ABOUT A GIRL.

stories for commuting:

2. Napping


Anne’s walls were not as Christmas as I imagined them to be. The green and reds were dark and reminded me of Tahoe in autumn—deep maroon and green—than they did of Christmas. They made her room feel wider and deeper than it was, the walls receding outwards in jet-lag induced…