Saturday, April 18, 2009


My bike got stolen sometime this past week.

I had it all locked up in the apartment basement in preparation for a spring full of joy rides and breezy travels; I was going to put my license number on it this summer just in case it ever got stolen.

I found the pool cue that they used to pry open the fencing. Oddly enough, it wasn't just the bike that they pried through the fence to get to. They, without knowing, managed to rip through my childhood and pull out a decent chunk.

My father gifted me the bike when I was 13 or 14. We were very financially unstable and I knew how much this had cost him. I promised to keep it safe and take care of it.

I remember the independence I used to feel when I used to ride it. The wind in my hair, the adrenaline coursing through my veins when I went down too big a hill on too fast a speed, the way my legs toned shapely and strong.

Maybe I'm making this a big deal when I shouldn't be. I just can't help feeling this way.

I sincerely hope that whoever stole it really needed to do so; perhaps they needed the money desperately when they sold it for 50 bucks (mind you, its an $800 bike). I can only hope for that whoever has it now respects it and the little piece of my childhood they now own.

1 comment:

  1. stupid bitches stealing's because they suck ballz. big donkey ballz.

    We'll grow you a new bike lady. Don't worry and make new memories!


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