The Ride Home.

We parted ways after leaving and I saw him go to fetch his bike.

I walked around the block to my parked car and drove off. He caught up to me for a moment at the first red light and smiled at me as I sat in my car, idling. I smiled back and watched him ride away, evading the red light and cruising around the trolley as it barged through the intersection.

I drove my usual route home, hoping I’d cross paths with him again. He lived near my house. After a few miles, I turned onto my street and saw him in the distance, pedaling fast down the bike lane.

I looked forward to him passing by, hoping for one more smile before I walked into my apartment.

But when he passed, he was older. Hunched over. Years had passed.

The drive home didn’t seem long, but I took the same drive every day. He was still taking the same old path, too.

But, so parallel, our paths never crossed again.

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