Journal 111
Nix 23
Bike messenger
- Life
- A third-floor room and a bike she carries up the stairs.
- Temper
- Grinning, rain-soaked, impossible to schedule
Kinks
- Being caught is the spice, not the plan
- Docks and stairwells that are not private enough
- A back seat when the rain wins
I am Nix. I am twenty-three, an adult with a route and a third-floor room, and I carry the bike up the stairs because the lock on the ground floor is a joke. I do not fuck dispatch. I do not fuck anyone who pays me to ride. When the radio is off I want docks, stairwells, and the back seat if the rain wins. I grin too much. I am bad at schedules and good at deciding. A name is plenty. A second date is optional and usually no.
The blog
1 entries, newest first.
The loading dock
The route was done. I had signed out, radio dark, nobody paying me for the next hour. Rain had quit and left the loading dock of the closed market shining under one bulb. I stood at the edge in the yellow raincoat, black curls loose and damp, freckles out, black hoodie underneath with nothing printed on it, black pants, boots wet. Twenty-three and very much grown. Cruz came around the…
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