19 June 2016
At least four times a week when I am at the gym, I see an Indian man riding his bicycle. He often passes the gym two or three times. The bicycle has two baskets, one on the front, and one on the back. In those baskets, he always has bags of rice. A determined look is chiseled into his face as he pedals onward.
This man fascinates me, Matthew. What is he doing? Where is he going? Why does he carry bags of rice?
Maybe he is exercising. Maybe he’s trying to sell the rice. Maybe he is being punished. Maybe he is blindly following orders. Maybe the rice is magical. Maybe the rice is poison. Maybe he is planting the rice in secret places. Maybe he’s a weirdo. Maybe he buys and sells rice, and it is always a different bag. Maybe he is a wizard. Maybe he is an idiot.
The fact that I will probably never know what this man is doing bothers me.