The basement of the Alamo
Wow. When I first started this I thought I’d write in it once or twice a week tops. But lo and behold, two posts inside 24 hours. Who knew my life was so full of zany mishaps and madcap hijinx?
Today’s installment begins this morning. I get ready for class and head out the back door and down the steps to my bike. Only my bike isn’t there. It's gone. I won't be riding to class today for it has been stolen.
My bike is all I have to get around on. My lone means of transportation. My trusty steed. I go back inside, helpless. My routine is to wake up, hop on my bike, and ride to class. This routine has been broken and I am not pleased. At this point I am past feelings of confusion and bewilderment. I am simply furious. I am ready to get the townsfolk together and hold an inquisition.
“This box contains over 217 bits and pieces of information . . . evidence . . . . IS THERE SOMETHING YOU CAN SHARE WITH THE REST OF US, AMAZING LARRY!??!”
But for now all I can do is go to class. And I have to walk.
All three classes drag but I eventually find myself done with the scholastic day. Broken hearted and downtrodden, I begin my walk to work. About 100 steps or so later I happen to glance to the right . . . . . . .and see my bike locked to the bike rack.
A whirlwind of images flood my mind. The barbershop quartet in Skokie. The time I spent picking beans in Guatemala. Kobayashi. . . . .I completely forgot that the previous night I went to see Elf with Matt. But before that I rode to Brown Hall to play piano for an hour or so. I left my bike there and met Matt to walk to the movie. After the movie I ended up walking home, stopping at Wendy’s on the way, completely forgetting that my bike was still locked securely to a bike rack on campus.
I just started to laugh out loud and ended up getting some weird looks. If they only knew.
I mounted my trusty steed and rode easterly into the setting sunset. Victorious.
Today’s installment begins this morning. I get ready for class and head out the back door and down the steps to my bike. Only my bike isn’t there. It's gone. I won't be riding to class today for it has been stolen.
My bike is all I have to get around on. My lone means of transportation. My trusty steed. I go back inside, helpless. My routine is to wake up, hop on my bike, and ride to class. This routine has been broken and I am not pleased. At this point I am past feelings of confusion and bewilderment. I am simply furious. I am ready to get the townsfolk together and hold an inquisition.
“This box contains over 217 bits and pieces of information . . . evidence . . . . IS THERE SOMETHING YOU CAN SHARE WITH THE REST OF US, AMAZING LARRY!??!”
But for now all I can do is go to class. And I have to walk.
All three classes drag but I eventually find myself done with the scholastic day. Broken hearted and downtrodden, I begin my walk to work. About 100 steps or so later I happen to glance to the right . . . . . . .and see my bike locked to the bike rack.
A whirlwind of images flood my mind. The barbershop quartet in Skokie. The time I spent picking beans in Guatemala. Kobayashi. . . . .I completely forgot that the previous night I went to see Elf with Matt. But before that I rode to Brown Hall to play piano for an hour or so. I left my bike there and met Matt to walk to the movie. After the movie I ended up walking home, stopping at Wendy’s on the way, completely forgetting that my bike was still locked securely to a bike rack on campus.
I just started to laugh out loud and ended up getting some weird looks. If they only knew.
I mounted my trusty steed and rode easterly into the setting sunset. Victorious.