I was also like a potato but not as much as you, either way we had a lot in common. We were on the subway or not, I found you potato which was nice.
If you ever see this, I was wearing brown pants and a brown shirt like you.
You were on a tandem bike up 6th Ave in Manhattan around 14th st. You were in the rear seat, reading a book, while a man pedaled. A big old book, a tome. You looked so leisurely while he sweated and peddled hard. What were you reading? Were you reading out loud to him? If I pedal, would you read to me?
A chain of circumstances brings you back with the rain that we never heard together. The months and the years do not erase you from my imagination.
Just reaching out into cyberspace to see who's out there. Attached guy seeking another ghost in the void we call life.
You hang art in the gallery on the corner of Avenue B and East 4th. I lived nearby. I would stare in as I rounded the corner. I wanted to talk to you. You were never there when the door wasn't locked. You looked at me once when you were having a smoke, I was carrying groceries, it was winter. A small tattoo on your shoulder. My hair is bleached, and rather short. That gallery was too empty, it was eery, the QR codes. I considered leaving a note. I considered many ways to greet you.