I see him lying there minutes after he is hit, some old guy with no helmet on the wrong side of the road. No blood, but no movement either. Ambulance has already arrived. In a couple weeks someone will take a broken bicycle, spray paint it skeletal white, and chain it to a nearby lamppost: a ghost bike memorial. A couple weeks later someone else will come along with bolt cutters: a thief, city official, or neighbourhood curmudgeon. I place a foot on a pedal of my bike – a black one – turn around, and ride away, still alive for now.
Paul Ruta used to ride his bike throughout the streets and ravines of Toronto. Now he lives in Hong Kong with his wife and cat. Find Paul at paulthomasruta.com and on Twitter and Instagram @paulruta.