My brother-in-law and I decided to end a lovely evening with a little lock cutting.
Somehow I broke one of the teeth on my bike lock’s key and my bike has been stuck at the metro for the past three days. Three of the most sweltering days to spend walking home. Where’s the spare key you ask? Oh, it was in my purse that was stolen 2 weeks ago at the airport.
I totally had an innocent smile complete with sob story all planned out if a cop wandered over while we had out the bolt cutters. I’m thinking it would have probably involved a demonstration of how even though it seems like this bike should be owned by a second grade girl (which it actually was in a previous life), my short legs are in fact perfectly suited to its tiny frame.