My bike is my independence. It’s the freedom and the pleasure of going wherever I please; to ride like mad across the town and then sit by the quay and watch a lonely sailboat until I’m frozen to the bone by the chilling wind.
My bike has two lights, white and red. I don’t know any better way to celebrate The Independence Day than this.
This one would be a plain boring snapshot if it wasn’t a tragic song reference. Someone once sang about the ninth floor only to jump to his death soon afterwards.
When I first moved to Wrocław, back in 2004, I lived on the last floor of one of those blocks in the so-called “bedroom districts” in the west of the city. I had some serious depressive episodes back then; I used to sit on the windowsill for hours simply because depressed, suicidal people did so in movies. I remember I almost fell out once; that was the tipping point when I realized that even though my mind is clouded by dense, dark fog, a will to live is not something that dies easily.