"That's a really little bike," I said doubtfully to the guy getting on the elevator. He was normal-sized, maybe 6 feet tall, and the bike was really small. Kid-sized. Too many instances of disappearing toys and clothes in Liberia and disappearing bikes in the inner city in Michigan have made me mistrustful of normal-sized people on little bikes.
"It's not for riding on the street," he said. "It's for BMX stuff. Dirt-biking."
"Oh, right." I nodded.
"That's a really small bag," he said.
I was carrying a little shopping bag for my library books.
Er. Yes. Little bag. (Weirdo.)
On the street outside, a Japanese couple with a baby in a sling stopped me and asked me about the Nike store in less-adequate-than-broken English. (Nike is almost the Greek word for victory, did you know? Three years of classical Greek, and that's about all I remember.) I know even less Japanese than almost any language on earth, but I managed to convey, I think, the following bits of information: ten minutes walk, bus on next street, bus 6.
On the corner by the park, two middle-aged men were handing out little salvation cards and one guy wore a sandwich board about Jesus. "Jesus loves you and wants to save you," one said as he held out a little card. "He will always love you." I smiled at him, but kept walking through the rain.
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