I'm on my bike, waiting for the light to change. To my right, a 30ish homeless man with a Guy Fawkes beard is standing on the sidewalk sorting through his pile of suspiciously moist fashion magazines. He is facing away from me, legs straight, bent at the waist, his pants drooping to just below his bare ass cheeks revealing a lunar landscape of puckered, angry red pimples on a cold, gray backdrop.

I tear my eyes away and look forward. The traffic light is still red.

I look right. Angry red moon.

Forward. Red. Right. Red.
Forward. Red. Right. Red.

Previously, previously.