calamity

I know because I checked.

4:45 am.

I looked at the cable box when I walked in the door, it was exactly so. I've ridden all over and taken the train, I got off at 4:27 and counted myself lucky because I only had to wait 8 minutes for the L train.

I have only taken the train 4 times since I moved in June. I resent going into Manhattan.

That said, I don't feel like every time I ride my bike I need to be relentlessly harassed.



3 guys in a Nissan 4x4; "Hey baby, what is that, an electric? Ooooooh ZAP me!"

Uh, yeah. Apparently internal coasting hubs mean that your bike somehow is propelled by something other than human muscles.

MTA "wash station" van--who convened with an NYPD car right in front of me, here I was foolishly believing they might be my saving grace--"YOOOOOOOOO NICE TATS, guuuuuuuuuuurl!"

No thanks.



Cue racing home. Get riiiight in front of my house, my hydrant, my parking space, my saviour. I start to cry; maybe it's beer tears, but seriously, why can't I ride my bike home alone without jerks yelling lewd things at me every five minutes?

Old man in a white Subaru, suddenly turning on the lights and opening the driver side door; "Are you okay, hun?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine."

I lock up with the 87 pounds of locks I've been carrying, stumble inside. I'm home.





I'm home.

4:57.