Gimcrack
Dried leaves sailed on a cool autumn wind across the lakefront trail. One of them, from an elm, skated and skittered across the pavement, then crunched underneath a bike tire.
Anne pedaled faster to pull up next to Jean’s bicycle, then matched her speed.
“Hey,” she nodded to Jean.
“How’re you holding up?” Jean wondered aloud.
“Are you kidding? This is the Midwest.” Anne motioned with her left hand, keeping her right on the handlebar. “Everything’s flat. I could literally bike all day.”
“True enough,” Jean responded trying not to breathe as heavily as she would have liked. “How’s the implant doing?”
“It’s great when it works,” Anne said, studying the curving path ahead. “But like every other time I’ve got to turn my Bluetooth on and off then wait ten minutes, or I end up restarting the whole thing.”
“That’s annoying.”
“Yeah, but I guess it’s better than nothing.” Anne ducked, avoiding a low-flying seagull who held a hotdog bun in its beak.
“It’s really nice out here,” Jean said.
Anne looked over to her to nod in agreement, only to notice that Jean’s bike was missing a wheel. In its place were part of an end table and a window sill. The seagull flew into nothingness then returned from oblivion.
“Ope, hold on, I’m losing you.” Anne tapped her head a few times, but she was back in her living room. She twisted the small disc from her temple and looked at it with disdain. “Piece of shit.”