Dear rider with the little bell, the whole Calle Loiza fair made room for you

You rode through the street fair on Calle Loiza on a Saturday afternoon in a three piece suit on a small folding bicycle, ringing the bell at every corner like you were announcing a ceremony. The crowd opened for you. A woman handed you a pastry without breaking your stride. I was on the sidewalk eating the other half of that pastry. We never met. We shared a pastry, and a street, and I think about it more than I should.