Three Feet

So I spotted Bill Poindexter riding the other day. But I wasn't riding. I'd met him maybe a week before, we have some mutual friends (as all transportational cyclists seem to).

I knew of Bill as a headhunter, one who placed graphic artists; on those rare and terrifying occasions when I've been out of a gig, my resume has gone over his transom.



Anyway, I was in Corinna's millstone, a vehicle I had borrowed while mine was in the shop, so I recognized Bill but no way he'd have recognized me. Then I saw he had his smart phone out and was snapping a pic. I knew exactly what he was shooting, too.