I want it back. You have had it long enough, and I continue to become increasingly angry about the whole thing. What kind of guy steals someone’s bicycle? Did you even consider the disappointment and horror I might feel coming out of class and discovering that my almost new, yellow ten speed Motobecane had been ripped off? What, I’m a saint? I’m gonna turn the other cheek and assume you needed it more than I? I have had it. I’m up to here with the whole thing. Beyond pissed off, I really think I may need to start looking in garages, asking questions, snoop around some. The police apparently are not going to do a damn thing. Where I come from we like to do a little street justice, if you know what I mean. You like walking without a limp? Proud of your sack? Want to be able to conceive children? Little rat bastards who will probably grow up and become thieves in their own right. Chips right off the old block. What? I should let it go, get over it? Like the fact that you did this in 1973 when I was in college somehow mitigates the event? You took my bike. I want it back. There are two ways we can do this. The easy and smart way would be that you bring it back, same condition, no questions asked. The other way, it’s not so easy. Nothing pretty about it. Maybe I break your freaking fingers, one at a time, so you never steal another bike. Maybe I steal your friggin sister. Your call, goomba. Easy or hard, I want my yellow Motobeacane back. You got ten days, starting……right now.