Girl on Bike
She said Kinshasa, like it held some sort of resonance.
In Africa, I’m going there, maybe Monday.
I asked if she’d ever been to Africa.
No, not really.
I need to know what it’s like, to be a stranger, she said.
Isn’t it dangerous, Kinshasa? Warring tribes, machetes, that sorta thing?
Don’t be fucking stupid, it’s like a major city.
She handed me a photo, of her on a bike, when she was young, all slow and clean.