dropping, breaking, spilling

Aah, do you have a flat tire? A scrunchy looking man outside of the Salvation Army in Spuistraat is making conversation as I walk by.

I tell him, no, no flat tire, it's just that I lost one of my bike's lamps and broke the other, again, and it's getting dark and the police has been so active in stopping people and giving them fines and I really can't have another one. The other day, I almost started crying when a police officer stopped me for biking in the wrong place.

I break things, I loose things, I spill them, too. I drop drinks that were just bought for me. I dropped three in one night once. It bothers me a lot. It bothers other people more; or less, I cannot be sure. Sometimes I want to hide underneath my blankets, build a tent and not emerge untill I am done with that. I am scared of entropy, scared of all things that keep breaking and falling and leaving me. My things like me, actually. I will have you know. I had a bike that really liked me but it got stolen anyway.

So I am walking.

My new friend looks compassionate. Did you know, he says, that by law, you are allowed to bike without lamps for half an hour after dusk sets in? He says look it up, I promise you it will be ok.

You will go a lot faster.