bird on a field

an older man – say mid 60’s – stopped his bicycle, orange vest glittering in summer afternoon sun, quirked a helmeted-head and asked,

‘why you flippin’ them tires?’

shirtless and drenched and gasping rather gracelessly for air, my hands clawing the fabric of my shorts on bent knees as i gathered myself, i responded with a squint and,


unfazed, the man re-asked his question,

‘why you flippin’ them tires?’

he gestured to the pull-up bars between us and asked,

‘why don’t you play on them bars?’

i heard him clearly this time and was upright and walking towards him and realized

i did not have a single answer that made any more sense than the other as to why i was flipping tires in 90 degree heat on a sun-soaked field by myself.

and i realized then how absurd this looks and that I’m working muscle groups i could work indoors and that i actually don’t need to work out at all or this hard at least and that i need to pee and I’m tired and it’s hot and

i smiled and said,

‘it feels right.

i dunno,

it’s just kinda fun.’

the man on a bicycle in an orange vest considered this, lied politely saying, ‘maybe I’ll try it one day,’ and rode off.

i drank some water that was hot because it’s hot and i forgot to put my bottle in the shade, typed this on my phone, and then flipped that tire a few more times because

why not?

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