7:30 a.m. the air a broom of burnt coffee and greasy meat sweeping off the river. Workers on bicycles with lunches tied to the handlebars swinging in plastic bags. Old men reeking of cheap soap walking with canes waving hello. Cats glaring and disappearing underneath houses, underneath cars, underneath banana trees. Things exist in multiples. The dog in the road lowering her head. Me on the bike thinking my sweat was rain. I reel it in and go at it again. If you love me like you say you do you'll try a little tenderness. This day is it - an/other chance.