According to Ronnie, the small man in the black shirt, I am indeed
the world's most fortunate man. My rear wheels could have killed me
any day for the last 18,050 miles, and what was I thinking? I don't know,
but here I am, breathing October like anyone else, next to the gumball machine,
while Matlock solves another murder on the flatscreen, and this angry woman
next to me smells perfectly like a bushel of apples. I do not mention to her
how much love Billie Holiday is singing only to me through my phone,
but yes, Ronnie, Billie, all of you, I know how lucky I am to have my tires,
my lungs inflated for now with just the right measures of air
