Charles River Murk

He composed a text to her, intending to say: “I’m going to be a strong arm robber,” but the auto correct produced: “I want to be s thong arm tobber.”

She responded: “U mean a strong arm fibber?” She had turned off her autocorrect months ago, confident in her speed and accuracy.

He responded: “no a string arm ribber.” His fused thumb again unable to hit the mark.

She threw her phone in the river from the Mass Avenue Bridge. She’d always wanted to see something she’d thrown disappear in the Charles River murk. 

A few yards later, she dove into the river. Nonplussed, he watched her disappear into the murk.

What I’m Reading:

Riding downhill can be a serene exhilaration after a strenuous climb. But it can also represent the decline after a peak experience. I don’t want there to be an ultimate summit. Instead, waves. Crests falling into vales with a momentum to carry me down and on back up ad infinitum.

— Tree Abraham / Cyclettes