They appear out of nowhere early in the evening in Austin, about the same time the bats emerge from beneath South Congress Bridge. The cyclists. There is a guy (it's always a guy) ahead of the pack, prancing forward like a messenger of the king. He delivers a warning to unaware pedestrians, "bikes coming through, bikes coming through." The pedestrians scurry in all directions like deer in the savannah alerted to predators. The bikes ride over the surface of the bridge, mirroring the bats that fly from beneath.
I'm in Montreal. It's a late summer morning. I'm here for 10 days, trying to wean myself out of Adderall, doing nothing, just staring out the the window of my Airbnb on the third floor. At a distance, I see a floating yellow carpet. On a closer look, I see tiny heads. It's a small herd of toddlers being shepherded by a teacher. They have yellow vests around their neck. In fact, it's one giant rectangular yellow vest with circular holes fit for toddler's heads. They are little criminals sharing one big strait jacket. I look farther into the distance, and I see another floating yellow magic carpet.
It's high afternoon in Austin. I'm walking to the gym. I see a red car turning right on the corner of Speedway and 40th. The car is on the sidewalk and being pushed by a Hispanic woman. It's a giant car-shaped baby stroller. One that fits four toddlers, their heads sticking out like moles peeping out of the earth. Why do toddlers always look like they are drunk? Now on the sidewalk, this toddler trait gives the appearance of drunk driving, perhaps foreboding their young adult life in America. I see two more red cars turn the corner. Toddler heads are bobbing around in them. They are pushed by Hispanic women.
I get coffee at the same place every day. Sometimes, I think about changing my ways and trying something new, but I'm usually halfway there when this thought catches me. I see four girls get out of a car and beeline for the coffee shop. They are all blonde and wearing large sweatshirts. It appears they forgot to wear shorts but are choosing not to make each other aware of this. This contrasts with the men I see flocking down East 6th Street. They are all wearing shorts. The same shorts. They got it at Bonobos. Men should get a bulk discount on shorts so that they can buy a dozen of the same pair for the group chat.
I'm at a concert. A post-punk band is putting on a disaffected performance. Business as usual. I spot several adult women dressed up in schoolgirl outfits. They look like the crazy four from Kill Bill. The synchronicity of their outfits reminds me of men I see at the indie movie theater who wear a baseball cap, denim jacket, and Carhartt pants. They say things like "cinema verite." My friend Amelia and I seem to be the only brown people at the concert. A while later, I noticed another brown man standing beside us. The brown people, all lined up next to each other in a crowd of 500.
I'm weaned off Adderall now. Quitting Adderall gives you back the ability to be really bored out of your mind. You start thinking about things like the murmurations of starlings. Their synchronized flight in the evenings. "Such coordination, such beauty," you marvel, but it's easily revealed that each bird acts out of self-preservation, with the goal of moving away from the edges to the center of the pack where they are protected from predators. Then you look around and see murmurations everywhere.