I know what you're saying: Tim, didn't you just get that bike? Like last week? Wasn't it such a new bike that you hadn't even taken a photo of it yet? And hadn't you just realized how head over heels in love you were with this bike just yesterday when you took it out on the town, rode to Brooklyn Bridge Park, rode into the city, and galavanted all around like you owned the place? The answer to all of these questions is a sweaty and horrified YES. I hadn't even named him yet! (Though Jimmy had already named him Nigel.)
Some fucking bullshit asshole was trolling through Chelsea with his saw today, apparently, and he saw my bike parked and locked on 24th between 9th and 10th and decided he just had to have my beautiful, virginal fixed-gear bike because why go to a bike shop and buy yourself something when you're a fucking lame-ass motherfucker and you've got a perfectly good saw in your hand?
More Guantanamo for bike thieves, Obama.
1 comment:
my last car was named nigel. so sorry :( maybe you could nestle into a subway sleeping bag to make you feel better
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