Monday, May 23, 2011

Wanna buy a bike?

Drinking a goblet of beer. The band is loud, screaming, and sincere. I had just smoked a cigarette and purchased a bike off a junkie in front of the show.  It doesn't come with a lock because he had obviously stolen it.  For 10 euro, it’s a good deal.  But now I've got an unlocked bike in front of the bar.  If it gets stolen, I’ll be fine with it.  They scream their lyrics and I think of how I wish my life was always like this.  I only worry about smelling bad the next day from all the smoke in this dive bar.  I can only imagine how bad my clothes smell already.  I consider them stale.  The bands are hardcore-metal and are on tour.  One of the bands is stoked to be playing their home town.  My less than honorable method of acquiring a bike has left me with little recourse or animosity over possible theft.  They SCREAM their lyrics, saying thank you after each song.  No one is speaking English but they can if prompted, unlike the French, whom I've been told will not speak English with you out of principle. Well if you’re going to get butt-hurt over having an "equal" language, then simmer down.  Look at the colonies that each Nation put in their Easter basket.  I think the UK had better planning. Better than all your eggs being in Africa.

My bike was stolen the next day while I was buying train tickets and looking for a bike lock.  The bike was gone and luckily I went and checked before going in and buying a lock.  I had shoved it between two bikes while inside and it was picked up within an hour.  It was a piece of shit though.  I've ridden worse, but it was pretty bed.  I had nearly hurt myself multiple times – it had weird peddle brakes, hard to get used to using. I had essentially paid for a shit bike and the knowledge of a junkie enjoying the removal of feeling and thought while slamming heroin through his burnt up veins.