A Letter To The Person Who Stole My Bike

I don’t have any photos of my dearly departed bike (sob!) but here’s a bad photo of my gorgeous new one

To Whom It May Concern,

Fuck you! You stole my fucking bike! At a busy corner with a ton of people around! At like 9 p.m.! What the fuck!

I realize you don’t know me, but I’ve been having a hard time and my one solace has been riding my bike around, listening to “Who? Weekly.” To be clear, when I say riding, I don’t mean idly — my bike is my main mode of transportation. I ride it every single day unless it’s pouring or really fucking cold outside because I love it and also because I’m so broke that a $2.75 subway ride is an expense I often can’t afford, you piece of shit.

You’ve probably realized this by now, you fucking dumbass, but it’s not even a nice bike. It looks nicer than it is, I think, but it’s just a cheap little bicycle that I love with all my heart and which I’ve ridden it all over this goddamn city for the past three and a half fucking years. I’ve ridden it to the Rockaways and Astoria and all the way up to Washington Heights. I’ve left it in precarious places and been pleasantly surprised to see it’s still there, locked to a parking sign at 3 a.m., waiting to bring me home. My sister started joking that my bike was my house and you know what? It fucking was. Sure, I didn’t live in my bike but I lived to the fullest while on it, you piece of shit.

And then you came along and smashed my lock at what — like 8 o’clock? On a bustling Friday night in a crowded area, you motherfucker. Did you even stop to think what that would be like for me? Did you even consider that I would walk outside at 9:30 after performing on my quarterly improv show, exhausted and a little buzzed from one free drink, excited to bike home on the first night of the season that felt slightly brisk? Did you imagine me walking up and down the block for several minutes, sure I must have locked my bike elsewhere because I’ve been tired and disoriented all week? Did you know that, once I found my mangled lock on the street, I’d feel violated, angry and a just a tiny bit relieved because at least, even after everything that’s happened, I’m not going crazy? Did you picture me trudging to the F train alone in tears, another night ruined at the end of this ruinous summer?

You didn’t, because you’re a selfish piece of shit. You just thought, “There’s a bike with an old lock that the owner should have replaced awhile ago but she’s probably had other things going on and maybe she couldn’t quite afford to drop $80 on a better lock SMASH.” Well guess what, bitch? That bike is cheap as hell because I’m broker than you! Unless you’ve also spent $4,000 on bedbug eradication in the past month.

Oh yes, I have bedbugs and so, probably, does my bike! I wouldn’t wish bedbugs on anyone — except you, because you’re a mean little bitch who stole my bike and made me cry and spend $300 I don’t have on a new one (that is, admittedly, beautiful) because it’s worth the investment in the long run, especially since I can’t afford a monthly subway pass and that shit is broken anyway.

In conclusion, fuck you. I hope you feel bugs crawling all over you in the middle of the night and wake up with giant, itchy hives for the rest of your miserable fucking life because FUUUUUCK YOUUUUUU!


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