An Ode to Pilfering: Alas, My Front Wheel

To the Bicycle Wheel Thief,

You must be incredibly weary this morning. Indeed, you are probably still asleep. I can only imagine so, given the ungodly hour at which last night’s events must have occurred. It must have been just early enough so that no one could have seen you, yet just late enough that you would still have time to make it home with your precious cargo to dream of spoked wheels and dollar bills.

(You should be wary of me, Bicycle Wheel Thief, for it is only under duress that I even attempt to rhyme.)

How was I to know that the umpteenth time was the charm? How many times have I left my singular mode of transportation in that exact same spot, in the view of the doorman across the street no less, without incident? As I sit with an ice pack on my shoulder from carting the now-unicycle home, tend to the cuts on the backs of my legs from scraping against my pedals, and attempt to wipe the scourge of my chain off my hands and legs, I can only muse that you must have had a very good reason to take my front wheel.

I hope for your sake that whatever profit you make from my front wheel was to feed your sick brother and sisters, dying mother, and the memory of your father. Otherwise I shall be more put out than I already am. Did it occur to you that my front wheel is of a peculiar size? Did you stop and think that perhaps this bicycle was my only means of transporting myself? What if, god forbid, I was unaware of the existence of the Concordia Bike Co-op and would therefore be unable to get a new wheel for a mere four dollars?

The joke is on you, Bicycle Wheel Thief. I suppose you didn’t notice that my seat was also a quick release.

I hope you enjoy your Seven-Year-Old Wheel that probably needs to be trued for two hours.


We Are Not Amused

Fuck you, Bicycle Wheel Thief. Meet my new Unicycle.
Fuck you, Bicycle Wheel Thief. Meet my new Unicycle.

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