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A few months ago, somebody said something to me that I found so humiliating that I have never talked about it. Not to anybody. Not even with the people I love the most. This is way too embarrassing. It makes me wince even to think of it. But telling my loved ones and my friends, that's real life. Those are people I have to live with. You and me, here, right now, on the radio, we have a different kind of relationship, right?
I can tell you. So this thing happened while I was still riding around the city on this poncy little folding bike, which looks ridiculous, and there's no dignity to it, but it is handy to have a bike that folds up if you live in the city. And it was maybe PM. And I was riding home from work, and I was wearing a suit because I'd been to work. And that morning, it had been cold, so I wore a coat, even though now, at night, it was warm enough, so the coat was unnecessary, but it was just easier to wear the coat than to be carrying it.
I was also wearing one of those-- you know those reflective orange and yellow vests? I was wearing it because I'd had three bike accidents, thanks to the fact that the folding bike loses its grip on the street in the rain. Extra precaution seemed worth it. I don't know. I have gray hair at that point, a neatly trimmed beard. I was wearing a helmet. All in all, I was a picture of fastidious care.
I was going south on Avenue B. I was between 3rd and 2nd Street. A young woman was traipsing across the street, not wearing a coat, full of cheerful, loose energy, bright eyes. She sees me on the bike. I am this locked down, buttoned down, helmeted, overdressed, gray-haired man in a reflective vest.