I was waiting - with Mike, of course - for the elevator to ride up to my apartment this afternoon when a boy, who I guessed was about 7 or 8, banged through the front doors with his bike. He walked it in between me and the elevator doors and leaned on the wall, and I felt a little of that irrational, don't-you-butt-in-front-of-me annoyance that you get when people walk in front of you while you're waiting. On his side, I think I saw him glance sidelong at my helmet and general air of slightly-dorky-grownup-ness.
The elevator arrived and the doors opened, and he wheeled his (much smaller) bike in. While he was considering where to wedge his bike to make room, I flipped Mike up onto his back tire and walked him into the elevator - I've had a lot of practice at that lately.
"Whoa! Sick!" the boy said. So I grinned, and he asked, "What floor?"
"Nine," I told him.
"Sick nine," he added, and pushed the button for me.