some c**t stole my bike

as many of you regular readers will know (all 3 of you), i spend a lot of time on my bike – it’s the way that i traverse the city – on wheels with music on in my headphones.. it is the one activity that brings me joy, regardless of what else is going on. even arsehole drivers don’t phase me that much.

i always said that if my bike got stolen, i’d be devastated, so i always make sure it was chained up good and proper. and i kept the mudguards, the chain guard and the bell rusty so it would look like a pile of crap that no-one would want. little did i think that my dear lawrencia got stolen from my OWN HOUSE! it was on the front yard, with 2 other bikes, belonging to my flatmate and the cunts stole mine.

it’s probably some drunk fuckbags who couldn’t be arsed walking home (because the only value is sentimental – it was my best friend’s mum’s bike). and they probably woke up this morning and wondered what the fuck a bike is doing dumped on the lawn. which is even more crushing.. lazy fuckers.

it sounds dramatic, but today i felt like my legs have been cut off. i rode everywhere! even when i was accompanying friends on their long walks home, i was riding at walking pace. and my bike was like my pack-horse! i carried a roll of underlay and carpet from a dumpster mission home on that thing! boo hoo!

and while this is mostly just a whinge, it has proven to me my point about psychogeography (through movement) – that my environment, locale, place, space is actually different, based on my bike-riding. insofar as, in not riding, i have a completely different experience of life. sounds like a given, really, but i’m surprised at how palpable the change is.

thanks for subscribing to she sees red by lauren brown. xx

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