I thought my back yard was quite secure. I locked my 15 year old half rusted mountain bike there. Among 20 or 25 other ones more or less rotten. This morning I came down and wanted to cycle to work – and it was gone. At first sight I thought: oh, was I too drunk last night? But I wasn’t even out Starting Alzheimer? No. It was just simply stolen.
Fuck you, thief! That was really mean. This bike is of no worth, maybe you’ll get 40 bucks for the frame and 1 for the plastic duck honk, you asshole. I curse your Karma. Get scrabies! (Krieg die Krätze!)
Here’s a still from one of my films (The Self-Healing Of My Bike) *sigh* from those days when we were still together
