-^-for posterity-^-

the man on the bicycle drove down the dirt road near my home. his bike was an old one. it was built in the days of straight frames roughly held together. its tires were bald, but they were thick and sturdy enough to trudge along the bumpy road with ease.

the man was a tall man. he rode the bicycle smoothly, with only a hint of insecurity as he turned the curved handles that arch out and point back. he was wrinkled from his forehead to his palms. he was covered in leather. his eyes were sullen. wisdom lurked somewhere.

he wore a hat, a small hat. it was an odd hat, one that had no brim, thus served no function other than as an accessory. he had a worn, stylish hat.

on the back of his bicycle that he slowly pedaled down the dusty roads were piles of bamboo mats for sleeping. they were rolled up and tied above the back tire. they limply hung over the sides of the bicycle and bounded and dangled. there were about 10 of them all piled up.

the man yelled, 'sleeping mats!' he would yell it stoically, as a matter of ultimate truth. 'sleeping mats!' his voice was two rocks grinding together. he sold them for about a dollar.

he drove off and i lost him in a group of students. his bike moved along the road, bumping and swerving slightly, and those mats that hung above the back tire thumped and jerked like a corpse.