Like An Ambassador From The Angel PlanetIt was drizzling when I left the house on my bike yesterday, intensifying into a downpour just as I was far enough from my house to make a trip back for a raincoat totally counter-productive. You've got to achieve this balance when you're biking in the rain without the proper gear, going fast enough to minimize time outside, but slow enough to stop a track of brown sludge from flying up onto the work clothes, slung from the back tire.
The rain and the sky merged D.C. into this massive wash of grayness, the grey rain washing out the grey buildings, blurring in all the grey residents of northwest purposefully bapp-bapp-bapping their way into grey government jobs. I was barreling down the one-way part of 18th street against traffic through the rain, cussing precipitation, cars, and their asshole human drivers, even though I was the guy clearly in the wrong...that's how you feel when you're on a bike. You're a superior sort of petroleum-free being, and you can do any old fucked up thing you want becasue everyone else is such a lowly driver.
Then I saw him at a stoplight--
This albino man dressed all in black stood at the corner, waiting on the light. His skin was pinkish-white like the first peach of the season, his hair fishing line matted together into a gleaming white mass or cropped polar bear hair. He stood there with perfect posture, patiently waiting, skin and hair glowing like he was an ambassador from the angel planet.
He looked fantastic, and I am not lying, for real. I felt something small and important change inside me, and it was almost lunchtime before that tiny glimpse of accidental beauty wore away.