Part IX:
My fixed gear bike isn’t much to look at, but it gets the job done. I recently spray painted the whole thing black so it wouldn’t stand out when I locked it up on the street. There is no lock strong enough to deter a thief who wants to make off with your ride. The way it looks now, it is more likely to end up in a trash heap than someone else’s garage. Either way, it serves as my only method of transportation, since I don’t own a car.
I weaved in and out of parked cars in the streets, doing my best to enjoy my time outdoors. The air was moist and cool and caused my eyes to tear quite a bit. The sensation of tears running down my cheeks was encompassing and it felt like more were rushing out as the previous ones dried in the wind. It was a very invigorating ride and as I pulled up to the front door of my building, I was a bit saddened for it to be over.
I live on the the third floor, but there is no elevator, so it usually makes for an interesting walk up the narrow staircase. Most of my neighbors are pretty accommodating and move out of my way if they see me climbing up. As I locked the front door behind me, Roger was standing in the hall, thumbing through his mail. It was rather an odd hour to be perusing mail, but who am I to judge?
“Good evening,” he called pleasantly, peering at me above the rims of his glasses.
To be continued…
