My favorite place in Shanghai. Every visit feels spiritual. We all come to watch the river, to cool down our bodies. Most of the people here are migrant workers, but underneath the stars, we’re all the same, and the view is identical for everyone.
(Near 向阳村.)
I saw another cyclist sitting down, a young guy eating an apple, and I asked him to watch my bike while I climbed over the fence to go down to the water: “Give me a few minutes please.”
We both cycle back and he says he’s from Anhui, working in Jinqiao (金桥), in a tech company like myself. “I always go here. I usually get off work at nine or ten in the evening, but maybe once a month at five. Then I go here. And on the weekends.”
After a few kilometers, he has to turn right, my road goes left. ‘Do I add his WeChat?’, I wonder. I rarely stay in touch with riders I met on rides. Not on purpose, but it happens. It doesn’t matter. We shared the road, and our separate lives coincided for a fugitive moment. It does not need our phones to intervene. I’ll remember it.
