I went into a house --for one moment, mind you -- and left my bike parked outside. I was going to go in for one second to say something to a friend and then pop back out and be on my way. At first, I glanced back at my bike and was relieved to see it was still there. Then I noticed it was missing its front wheel. Why they would take just the wheel when the whole bike wasn't even locked up, I don't know.
I set out to trudge home, crestfallen, wheeling my bike by its back wheel with the front forks over my shoulder, slumped forward like Jesus carrying the cross. I guess I felt deserving of the shameful walk home. That embarrassing "look at the idiot who didn't secure his front wheel and got it ripped off" walk, known all too well to inner-city bike owners.
I ran into Beavis, aka Jamison, after a minute or so. He told me he might know who had stolen my bike wheel and where to find them. Without a moment's hesitation, I conscripted him for the revenge/recovery mission.
"Let's go!" I said, filling up with righteous fury.
It was only a few houses down from my friend's place. I knocked on the door, anxious to get the inquisition underway. A wife-beater wearing, mullet-headed okie tweeker type opened the door a crack and breathed in my face.
"You get out of here!" he said, as if he knew exactly why I was there.
He pointed his finger at me, extending his arm through the slightly opened door. My friend, acting quickly, pushed the door shut, trapping his arm in a most painful vise. I seized his flailing arm as it tried in vain to swing at me. I gripped his hand with both hands and bit down hard on his finger, like I was taking a bite of a sandwich.
"Owwww!" he screamed.
Another person behind the door immediately produced a bike rim and tire that looked approximately the same size and brand as mine, though the tire was deflated a bit. They had possibly been in the process of swapping tires or something when we arrived. I took the rim and released the finger from my mouth, but not before pulling him outside and pommeling him repeatedly about the face and chest.
My friend had to pull me off, reminding me that we had what we'd come for and that it would be best to leave before we had an assault charge of our own to answer for. I reluctantly agreed, but still felt a bit of rage and would have been satisfied to keep the pommeling up for at least another half-hour.
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Before the semi-cannibalistic bicycle thief retribution dream, I had another scrap of a snippet of a dream. I was looking for a way to hang a banner between two trees. I don't know what the banner said, or its purpose, only that I was charged with doing this. My mom was involved, and she tried to help me find a hammer and some clothesline, whatever it would take to get this accomplished.
Nothing much came of it. It was basically a long, drawn out scenario in which nothing actually happened, but I went through the motions of attempting this seemingly meaningless task.
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My Saturday fun day is still scheduled, though I'm not feeling completely up to it. My right eye is still bothering me from yesterday and is most distracting. If it's not one thing, it's something else. My train is so easily derailed, it seems. But I will trudge and muddle my way through it, damned eye or not. If I gotta slog through the everyday shit that requires my reluctant participation, why should I curtail the one thing that has at least the potential for enjoyment?
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.