This morning I walk out to go to the office, I round the corner of my building, putting on my helmet and the thingy that stops my pant legs from getting caught in the chain. I turn to unlock my bike and I find it sitting there minus the rear wheel. Crippled.
I'm shocked and not shocked. Sad. Angry. It feels awful to be robbed. You feel violated and helpless. Explosed.
I stomp off to work on my other vehicle: my feet. I'm grouchy today.
I go to the art gallery after work with Ceri and that cheers me up. Walking home later I'm carrying some thin hope that maybe I was seeing things; it wasn't MY bike I'd seen this morning. I look at the spot and there it is. My bike. Crippled.
I'm not so patient when it comes to life's inconveniences. And I know, in the mind of the thief, it's got nothing to do with me; but in my mind it's all about me and I can't stop thinking about the lurking tire predator, laughing at me; challenging me to fix it.
