My bike has been stolen. I’m not totally sure what to do. It makes me all swimmy-sick inside. I know there are larger problems afoot. I should be joining a socialist revolution and wearing clothing made from hemp and eating vegan from the garden. But really I just like to bike. I like wind and whirring and the rhythmic crink-crink-crink of the chain, and the way a bike is almost nothing, a slip of metal, so you too are almost nothing but a bit of metal, a bit of wind and whirring and crink-crink-crink. So I am almost thirty and almost stranded, but not stranded at all — I have a car from 1993 and a city of public transport; and it’s not that at all, it’s not that I’m stranded really, it’s just that things seem much closer via two wheels.

Update: Well, in a dizzying display of amazingness, there is a rally underway to defeat the bike thieves by replacing my bike via group solidarity. I am… totally speechless.

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