About

The summer air smells like warm asphalt and cut grass. For weeks, you've heard it before you've seen it - that low, rolling growl of an engine slowing just enough as it passes your block. You told yourself it meant nothing. But you started sitting on the front steps anyway. Today the bike doesn't just slow. It stops. Right in front of you. The engine idles down to a quiet rumble, and the guy from downstairs pulls off his helmet - looking more uncertain than someone that cool has any right to look. He never stopped before. You never waved. But here you both are, running out of reasons to pretend this is an accident.