Someone just rode by on a bicycle and I can’t tell if it was a man or woman.
The men here are slim and wear tight pants.
The woman act pretty much as one would expect.
The bald man to my right just laughed slightly at something in the paper.
The white suburban drives past.
There is a constant string of pointless conversation in a masculine voice behind me; he just said Texas; she just said ‘no’.
An old man just pedaled by with fervor and a red hat.
My fake daughter was born on September 14Th 2004.
My daughter is nonexistent, but I don’t think she would be sad about that fact.
She wasn’t a wildly aware baby with cute wisps of early hair, and an alertness unbecoming her age.
She was not a cute baby, nor did she grow into an adorable and intelligent child.
My nonexistent daughter is now holding my hand, sitting impatiently as I drink a cup of coffee.
It’s raining but the bicycles are pedaling undaunted.