To the guy in the dark clothes, last evening, about nine pm:
You probably don't remember me. We didn't even exchange words last night, but I wanted to -- God knows I wanted to! You made quite an impression like that. I had no way of knowing how just catching that brief sight of your face would get my heart racing, make my mouth dry. I've been thinking of you all day, and I can't get you out of my head.
It isn't that you're anything special, I suppose. After all, this town, every town has bunches of guys like you -- reckless kids in grown-up bodies. It's just your timing.
You appeared before me, out of the darkness, dressed in black, with your hood pulled up over your head, gloves over your fingers, scarcely visible until the last second. My heart froze. My breath ceased.
You wore no helmet and had no lights or reflectors on your old bicycle as you crossed the dark street directly in front of my car.
You are damned lucky to still be alive.
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