I wrote this in my notes.

"Life is both part very literally real and very romantic,

and to be too sentimental leaves you

unprepared to handle life at its most real, and being too

realistic leaves you unable to have a

deeper emotional experience outside of the ordinary."

Despite how it comes off

I didn't write this as a dogma,

I'm not dogmatic,

this is an observation.

I observed this to be more often than not true,

a tendency to occur.

I wrote this awhile ago and I didn't edit its inclusion here;

I don't currently believe this exactly as I wrote it,

but I do believe some continued form of the same idea.

Having chosen this as my paradigm to experience life

through, I've placed myself as a person

who leans generously towards the "literally real" part as

opposed to romantic sentiment.

My justification is that what is being experienced on its

own is worthwhile; to exaggerate is to

distance oneself from reality. The result is physicality, I

perceive some things that happen to me

as very real and others are nothing.

This is something that happened to me sometime in

Early Spring of Two Thousand Twenty-Three.

I was riding a Citi Bike home after class and it was night.

Everything that was happening was usual.

I was on one of the electric Citi Bikes

Colloquially - The Silver Surfer.

My most common form of transit while I was in the city,

more so than the subway.

I was high, usual pre-bike ride ritual.

I was endangering my possessions, I already had to

replace a laptop for getting jostled too hard

in the shitty basket on the bike.

This had never stopped me not once

from putting my shitty tote bag in the basket.

Everything usual.

A few blocks from the turnoff onto 125th, on the long

stretch between the last turnoff at 96th that

runs right next to the Southbound Traffic

on the West Side Highway,

I looked and saw that there was no traffic.

I thought construction for only a few seconds

before I saw the slow-moving wall of cars

and the small white dog in front of them.

I stopped and watched.

I expected an owner to come out.

I was surprised the city was yielding for this dog.

It ran down the pavement, I turned the bike around and

followed.

Eventually it ran onto the center island.

No owner came out.

Traffic resumed.

I watched the dog realize it couldn't go back the way it

came.

It ascended the steep incline of the overgrown median

and disappeared on the other side of the hill.

This was the last time I saw the dog alive.

I stood there on the bike trail for a minute deliberating.

I don't lie to myself, I knew how this was going to end.

I still got off the bike

and timed my sprint across the West Side Highways

and ascended the same steep grassy median.

At some point,

either before I even got off the bike

or while I was climbing the median,

I heard a thump.

I went back or forth on whether I even heard it or if

that was just a sound cars made, but

I knew what I heard.

I reached the top before seeing the dog one last time.

White lump.

I turned and I made a sound.

I stood there shorty before I went down.

I crossed the highway and got back on the bike.

I remember what I told myself before I started moving

again;

That if I was ever in this situation again

I wouldn't hesitate.

I got back on my bike and parked at the station near the

food truck and got dinner and walked

home and ate dinner.

What I wanted to do was stand there, at the edge of the

highway, and stay. I wanted to keep

thinking about it. I wanted to mourn someone's pet

because they wouldn't be able to

themselves.

The Silver Surfer Citibikes have a more expensive rate,

and I was starving,

and homework was due.

I started moving.

I tried to do the things I usually do after classes,

I couldn't enjoy them.

I went to bed early.

Sometime later in the week I was usual again.

Besides some things here and there

I've been usual since.

But I don't lie to myself when I do the things I usually do.

When I scan out a Silver Surfer Citibike,

I remember the time I was biking once

and watched a dog die.

When I ride the West Side Highway,

I remember the time I ran across it

to look at a dog I let die.

When I get high before my bike rides

I think about the time I was out riding high

and watched someone's pet die.

When I move on too quickly

I think about the time I hesitated

and let a dog get hit by a car in an uncaring city

and I sided with the city.