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The Old Ones Just Keep Going

On a day of celebration, we decided to just keep riding

On the day the election is called we mount our bikes and climb the hill near what used to be my mother‘s Flatbush apartment. The hill seems endless but today I am also endless. I stand and push, suddenly aware of how much power lives stored in the thickness of my thighs. Power enough to defy gravity, power enough to propel myself through the morass of time. The hill seems to go on forever. My breath is short but longer than it used to be. It…