From my tall perch, I spy carefully
wrinkled chambray and rolled hems.
A flash, beckoning.
Lunch is as easy as "down the street," to that other street much loved by the locals and now, by me. Zoning has frozen the structures in time, so that shops can piggyback on the charm of a tucked-away cottage. The effect works. In the span of a ten-second ride, I imagine myself carefree, sandals on the pedals and flowers in the basket. You know, for all those days when I have utterly nothing to do.
[I want a city bike.]