First you roll past an old couple kissing, thinking that they're so beautiful and old and still very happy and in love. He's got a husky gray beard like he just returned from digging gold in Alaska, and her hair is colored red like fire, consuming her head and making her bright as the sun. This is great, you think, I want to grow old just like that and with the wind in my face like this.
A little further down you have to stop at a red light, enjoying the break it gives your legs, even though you're going down hill. You watch a man eyeing some girls very candidly, looking them up and down and consciously letting his eyes rest on their breasts and in their crotches. The girls giggle and send him looks that are mixes of disdain and desire, and you burst out laughing, this is just too fantastic and a wonderful thing to see. The man notices you laughing, and he winks at you in that man-to-man way and starts laughing himself. Pretty soon everyone is laughing, and with a great feeling you roll on, the light has turned bright green again.
For a while you just keep rolling on your shabby bike, letting your mind wander, thinking about everything and nothing and getting deliciously mixed up with your own thoughts. Suddenly you understand what's bothering you: this is too fast, you can't see things properly. With a sad goodbye you leave your bike in some bushes, to be found by someone else in need of speed and that nice feeling of air brushing your face as you jet down the boulevard.
Almost immediately something new and marvelous happens. A thin, long haired and gaunt looking man stops you, wondering if you speak english. "Why, yes I do," you reply, actually using just those words: Why, yes I do! "Great!" he says and starts talking, telling you why on earth he ended up in Paris. You listen, great stars in your eyes, you're thinking this is wonderful and very nice. He's on a spiritual journey, he says, staying with a very holy and spiritual man who's helping him discover his past through meditation and the use of chakra stones. When this great person speaks he gestures wildly with his arms, pointing both inward and outward and truly communicating his feelings. "Fantastic!" you say, being solemn and honest, and he pauses to look at you, smiles and says after a second of thought: "Yes it is. Fantastic." - and then he goes on. He's discovered he's a victim of childhood torture, done to him by his own mother, the witch. Large eyes, not shocked but surprised. "Now the healing has begun," he says and touches his heart with those tiny spindly hands of his. He has nothing to eat, he says, for now his mother has ceased all his assets as a means of forcing him to come home so she can once again control his mind. But he won't go! The healing has begun! Oh no, he won't go and you agree with him whole-heartedly, don't go! A wonderful and strange human, you think, and give him all the money you have on you, enough to get some bread and cheese, and he looks like he needs it more than you do - besides, you've got a little piece of bread in your bag, for later.
As you watch him scurrying away and up the boulevard, you think of Kerouac's warm and loving and amazing words:
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars, and in the middle, you see the blue center-light pop, and everybody goes ahh..."And you smile to yourself and say: He truly was a mad one, mad to be saved - a sad and great thing to see.
Now penniless you feel even better, remembering your mad friend and the piece of bread in your bag. It's the first sunday of the month, and the Louvre is free! There's an exhibit of spanish master drawings, and you hurry, hurry, because it's going to be great.
Jusepe de Ribera - Saint Gerome reading
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