One of the construction workers at this site mooned me. I missed the shot, but as we had already established contact of a kind, I did something I've not done before or since: I asked him if he would do it again, for the camera.
  He said, "What are you, gay?"
  "No," I replied. "Are you?"
  "Yeah," he said. "I think you're kind of cute."
  "Thank you," I said. He had no comeback for that, and he went about his business.
  It was while reloading that I saw the cyclist approach. The torn poster and the man's legs were in position, and the finished image now came into mind: a composition divided into Mondrianesque blocks, with the cyclist entering the frame from the left. The cyclist drew near. I pushed the film into the camera and closed it. I hurriedly advanced the film, raised the camera, and as the cyclist drew into the viewfinder, took the picture. The cyclist rode on, the clicking of her wheels fading into the west.