The bagels were fine, you called up from the red scooter

In the first warm week of April in Mile End you rode past on a red kick scooter with a paper bag of bagels in the basket, and every time you went over a bump a bagel fell out and you stopped and put it back. I counted four stops. I was on a balcony with a coffee, wholly invested. You waved. I waved. The bagels were fine, you called up. I called down, congratulations. It is the only time I have ever congratulated a bagel.