Some Fucking Low Rent Stole My Bike

I don't know when. The last time I rode it was to the Gallivan Center to see The Roots play, on July 10th. I stayed out late and got drunk, so we walked home from downtown. I collected my bike the next morning afternoon, July 11th. (We left for vacation on July 18th, and returned on July 27th.)

Last night I was in an organizing frenzy. I found my bike helmet in the mudroom (I'm sure I put it there when I walked home with it on July 10th). I hung it on the door handle so that this morning I could carry it to the garage and put it on my bike seat, which is where it belongs. So I walked out this morning, and...where the fuck is my bike? There is Chris' bike (locked, of course, cause he is Mr. Responsible) and there is the spot where my bike used to be. Motherfucker.

Now I know I sound irresponsible because it wasn't locked. But it was in our garage. Which, granted, does not have a door on it, but it is completely behind our house. (Which makes it even creepier that someone was back there, yes, I realize that, thanks.)

It wasn't a great bike. It was a 7-speed cruiser that I used mainly to get to bars and the farmer's market and other crap in my neighborhood. But it was MY BIKE. I'm attached. If I see it for sale on Craigslist, I will buy it back, for god's sake.

posted by Ami @ Wednesday, July 30, 2008