Potomac Sound Excerpt

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morning: 1986

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Taylor Bancroft rode north at the knife edge of sunrise, his favorite time of day. The streets were quiet, his breathing steady, even as he pedaled harder, trying to build momentum for the climb ahead.

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Rather than blow through the red light, as was his custom, he back-pedaled to slow the bike, then balanced, his front tire kissing the white line. He rocked the bike back and forth, track-standing.

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To his left, sun dappled the glass building like a lava lamp, the colors changing shape and hue as they moved across its facade, Taylor so mesmerized he didn’t see the light turn green.

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A horn snapped him out of it, but for the rest of the day that vision stayed with him, and he found himself searching windows, seeing the city in new funhouse light, the twisted reflections of cars and pedestrians and statues a tripping-without-acid reality that filled him with wonder.

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He was twenty-three, and no matter which way he turned, the horizon appeared endless.

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