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Despite all of my self-abuse, I do have a healthy side. I ride my bike 7 miles to the gym every other day and work out for about two hours.
A big problem being an owner of a decent bike in a metropolitan area is theft. In the last three years I?ve had three bikes stolen and each time I?ve replaced it with a progressively bigger bike that moved up in tandem with progressively bigger bike locks. Trek became Gary Fisher and now Gary Fisher is a Cannondale. Now my lock of choice is the Ongaurd Brute Bitbull?a lock which is so big and burley I need to carry it around in a backpack.
A few days ago I am walking out of the gym in the middle of the afternoon with my keys in hand ready to unlock my bike. To my surprise, when I reach the bike rack, some black dude is shaking the bike like he?s possessed in a vain attempt to exorcize it from the pole.
So I walk up, ?Let me show you a trick to get that off faster??
He steps back, I swiftly unlock the Pitbull, snap it back together, and swing the business end of it straight into his jaw. Stunned, he steps back. Blood spatterings and bits of teeth cover Wilshire. I?m a little in shock that I had fucked him up so bad. I already had the lock poised ready to strike again, so I brought it down on his head in a second and even more wicked blow.
I don?t even think that he knew what had happened. By this point the various people meandering around the streets of the Miracle Mile were starting to stare as some skinhead fuck was beating the life of some poor black crackhead, so I threw the lock back into my backpack and bounced.
When I got home I washed the blood and bits of flesh off of it.