It was a 1970s vintage Nishiki, Real popular amongst the fixie pixies, drop bars, standard "10 speed" of the time, but a bit better steel and construction. Cost me about $100 at a garage sale, then another $75 in new rubber and stuff. Looked like shit, raggen saddle, and E-tape on the ends of the handlebars, That's my ride.
That;s my daily driver, that's my grocery getter. I spent a couple of years fucking BLIND. I still don't drive, because I don't trust my reflexes. That bike was my independence, my liberty, my freedom. I could get another, maybe at WalMart. Bullshit. That was a tailored bike. It took me months to get it to fit right, and now you're gonna trade it for crack.
I know what you were thinking: "rich guy, fancy bike, no biggie". Wrong. Poor guy. Old bike. Major fucking problem. Add another hour to each side of my commute, asshole. You know what? that's the cost of my fucking rent.
Die in a crotchfire asshole
No comments:
Post a Comment