Where’d he go? I’ve been here ages. He can’t be coming back. Look. I’ve got a flat. The other ain’t much better. Someone’s pulled off me grips. Some guy. Don’t know why. look at my chain. It was a lovely gun metal grey. It’s brown now. Bright bloody brown. Like dead leaves. Or iron ore. How long have I been here? I don’t know. I’m a bike, not a watch. I s’pose I been locked ‘ere for weeks. Maybe longer.
It ain’t right.
It ain’t fair.
I was made to be ridden, not bound.
An abandoned bike is always a sad sight. Maybe more so when it’s not been stripped already and there’s no apparent reason for doing so. This bike has clearly been left for a long time, the chain so bright with rust that it added a dab of colour to an otherwise monochrome dusk. What happened to the owner? (let’s…
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