His mother called him Jeroen, his friends called him buckwild, but he’d forgotten why. He rode a 3-wheel bicycle backwards in the vicinity of the train station, his glasses steamed up at times. He didn’t often know why he did things, they just seemed to happen; ****** upon him by an invisible hand or colliding with him as a result of his own forward momentum. He liked to binge eat chocolate until his stomach felt like it was going to take off like a NASA space rocket. He liked to watch NASA space rockets take off on youtube, while fidgeting with chocolate wrappers. His bedroom smelled of tomato sauce and lynx body spray; he liked it that way.
Sometimes bad things happened to Jeroen which him which made him sad, sometimes good things happened to Jeroen which made him happy and then sad again. A suitable metaphor for his emotional state could be a see-saw or a shuggy boat. Although really his emotions were much more complex and fraught than that. Jeroen was Jeroen and buckwild after all.
One day, after he’d been to the supermarket to get a baguette, a horrible meat-based spread for the baguette and a can of a horrible fizzy drink; Jeroen was cycling backwards quickly. Jeroen forgot to press his break and went flying into a pizza food truck. Jeroen was unharmed.
