The guy that crashed his bike into the ditch out front and decided that was a good time to ask me for a large glass of ice. Just ice.
“It’s hot,” he said.
He looked manic—probably drugs—but whatever the dope had done to the rest of him, it hadn’t touched his mechanical skill.
When I helped him lift what I guess was a mini-bike out of the ditch, the gas can fell out. It was a beer can wedged into where the old tank had been.
Then the frame came apart in my hands. Looked like maybe a wood screw and some zip ties were involved.
Then the seat fell off.
I don’t think it had even been attached.
This man rode that thing into the ditch.
Rode it.
My man.
We eventually got him sorted and he invited me to ride bikes into the woods so we could smoke a “hog leg.” Hmm…
Anyway, I ran into him again yesterday—new bike, real upgrade—grinning ear to ear.
He probably found that hog leg too.
And honestly… I’m sorely tempted to take that crazy motherfucker up on his offer.
