He sat up when he noticed my bike.
"Holdsworth?" He asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Holdsworth, a Holdsworth. I've never seen that kind of bike before."
I looked at him.
"Wow, a Holdsworth. Huh. Where'd you get that bike?"
Then he fiddled on his phone and said "William Blake Holdsworth. English bike. Wow."
He came over to sit next to me.
"I've never seen a bike like that." The lemon smell was so strong. "I've got fifty bikes. I collect bikes. And I've never seen a bike like that." There was a family listening to the conversation a couple rows back. I caught eyes with the thirteen-year-old and she smiled.
"I'll give you a hundred dollars for it," the guy said.
"No, that's alright." I said.
"Good to meet you," he said. "My name's Derek."
"Katie." We shook.
"Can I ask you how much you got for that bike?"
"I got it for free," I was smirking in a hippy, pacifist way. "This bike found me."
"It found you? I've never seen a bike like that."
"Hmmm," I said.
"I collect bikes. I've got fifty. This has been welded by hand. Wow." He bent down to touch my bike. Two-hundred he mouthed at me. I shook my head.
"Don't lock that bike up outside. Mount that baby on a wall." I just looked at him. This bike was meant to be rode.
"That's a real vintage bike you've got there. Real vintage."
"What have you been drinking tonight?" I asked.
"But you smell like lemons."
"I popped in a lemon coughdrop." We sat in silence.
"I'm a busy guy, I'm a busy guy, I got a girlfriend."
"I'm busy too," I said.
"Yeah, I do things. Like, I kiss girls."
"That's nice," I said.
After he recited a poem to me about a bass trout, it was MacArthur, and I asked him if I had missed the 19th St. stop.
"You missed it," he said.
"Oh," I said. Then I rode home on my Holdsworth, feeling goddamn rad.