We cycled until we were certain that the sun had begun to rise -until the sky began to turn from black to deep blue to purple to orange and till the colours began to push back the dark covering of night and all its stars.
It was like we had ridden the curve of light into another realm where the tin roofed houses were smaller than our own, where pink flamingos stood stranded beneath ancient palm trees and thin wire fences rusted in silence through a million winter rains.
Then, at No. 36 Valhalla Street, as the eastern sky changed colour over tin roofs, you said, “Lets go back home. We’ve come far enough”.
And so we rode home with the coming dawn, back into the past.