Manhattan is never vacant, and it is never groomed. If I met a man on a bike, would he tell me something I never knew? How would his story influence me? His desperation propels him to run a red light. Why risk his life, just to catch that light?
If I could talk to him, maybe he could be my Dr. Selwyn… He could tell me about the vacancy within him that let him part with his own life. What will they find when a taxi tries to catch the corresponding yellow light? His blue coat, a turquoise hood, a bike, and a man. If I were to look up this incident, would I be surprised to find this careless biker dead?
Looking at articles about the numerous hit and run accidents involving cyclists, “I ha[ve] no great difficulty in overcoming the initial shock” (Sebald, 23). There is one such accident on December 27, 2010. This is the day this photograph was taken. “And so they are ever returning to us, the dead.” (Sebald, 23).
“For years the images of that exodus had been gone from [my] memory, but recently, […], they had been returning once again and making their presence felt” (Sebald, 19). This is the first time I have ever thought about that biker. It is the first time I have felt his presence. Yet, beneath the beautiful sky and city landscape, it looks as if a biker is risking his life.
Does the tragedy of suicide even belong to him? Who really is Dr. Selwyn? I could tangle the story of a tragic man with my own desperation to write something great. It would create a novel.
I do not remember seeing it. Is that article about a hit and run accident really the story of a biker’s suicide? “The fear and hope within us, all of it (Dr Selwyn told me) I can now live through again, as if it were only yesterday.” (Sebald,19). He must of made the light.