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Hilo ride

I’m on my way back from the mountain and I see them: girl and boy, with that earnest dazed look they all have. They have stepped out of a magazine, all tawny-haired and tanned lithe.

We just need up past the Halapana bridge, she says. He has a bike’s front wheel.

It’s hardly any distance. She’s been here a year, him three months. He’s from Seattle. He knows the Metro. The local bus is no comparison. Yeah, she says, about the local bus website. Yeah, like, I mean….

She has some trouble indicating the left I’m supposed to take:
It’s the first left after the bridge.
Yeah, it’s like right here. This coming up.
It’s okay, you can stay in this lane.
Huh? Yeah.

She wants me to let them out there. Where is it you need to go? It’s only a little more ways up the hill. That’s retarded, I say, and drive them. He laughs.

They still walk when I let them out. Maybe she wanted to walk with him.

She is always in that distance where she is with him in my headlights as I turn around, a bright beautiful thing in summer’s soft dark.


One comment on “Hilo ride

  1. You idealize women a great deal, I’ve noticed.

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