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I love bike rides.

I haven’t gone on one in a long time. To me, biking always seems like a juvenile thing to do. A carefree thing. Going so fast and so far, the wind blows all of your thoughts away. Taking a meandering path through neighborhoods to stare at people mowing their lawns with their heads down and catch the attention of dogs attempting to guard. To swerve dangerously between cars with music pumping through my headphones.

The pain in my legs and the thrill of the glide. The moment as the world slips away around and behind in a swirl of green grass and brick houses. The beauty of a perfectly normal neighborhood. The carefully tended flowers and the piles of junk piled just in sight behind garages.

My sister was my companion today. I raced her, beating her and turning to grin at her over my shoulder.

We rode up a bridge spanning the highway. We stood at the top and waved at the drivers below. Most people are occupied with phones and changing lanes. Some honk. Some wave back.

Some are enthusiastic, squinting into the sun and flapping their hands. Some annoyed, as if only some social contract forces them into it. A few flip us off.

I laugh at them all.

I find people stand on a bridge and wave to be silly. People with nothing to do with their time. But as we stand there, the wind whipping around us and the cars speeding below. The strange comradery to be shared between two strangers who share a smile.

My sister says all depressed people should come here. To see how small they are compared to all the people wrapped in their lives. Their own worries. Their own joys. To share a moment of happiness. That people really do look around and acknowledge each other if only for a brief moment.

Now I pity those people who have things better to do than to stand on a tall bridge between sky and earth. God and man. And laugh at tiny faces flapping their hands and honking their horns as I laugh.

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