Once upon a time this would have been a comfortable home, where your bedroom window may have looked upon the razor wire at the Canon City State Penitentiary. While the prison is still thriving, this old home sits abandoned.
Remember these? When I was a 13 I lived very close to a drive-in and since I didn’t drive, my friends and I would climb under the back fence and watch movies by the picnic tables at the concession stand. The first 15 times we got thrown out and then the management came up with a novel idea. They gave us cards that would allow us in for free, through the front gate. That way, they wouldn’t have to chase us, and we wouldn’t be breaking the law. It was really brilliant thinking for 1962, and I will always appreciate it.
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.