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.

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