Tandem

A tandem bicycle is sweet but impractical. I sit on the back, my pink skirt billowing out around me. Wobbling across the tricky intersection, down Cuba Mall through gaps in the pedestrian traffic. Out onto the waterfront where the sea breeze makes my attire even more ridiculous. ‘That chick’s tailgating hard out,’ says a passing youth to his friend. We stop and sit for a while, our conversation fractured. Fantasies never really come alive. There is always the chain catching your clothing, and the feeling that your feet are being turned by someone else’s pedals. And the sea – well the sea always looks like that, is never truly sympathetic.