Yesterday, I saw a large woman gesticulating a gun fight with her hands to her bemused friend. They were standing next to a strip mall lock'n'key kiosk and it was the golden hour. She was demonstrating in shocking detail what appeared to me from my vehicle, a victim getting shot in the face with either a bullet or an arrow from a bow. I surmised that the victim's brains were blown out. Her friend nodded solemnly. She was very good at telling her story and I was intrigued but then the light turned green and I drove off.

Today, as I biked home against punishing winds, pedaling steadily and passing beneath an overpass, I saw a homeless man standing one foot away from the cement wall, facing it sternly, mere meters from his own bicycle and pitched tent. He was curling a bowling ball for exercise. Was the bowling ball a prized possession, one he was willing to schlep around with his other belongings? Or did he stumble upon it recently, identifying it as a perfect curling weight? I pedaled on and the temperature dipped with the sunset.

I wish I had taken photos of these moments.