“No, but what scene?”

There are some moments in life that stick with you, and at the time they really didn’t seem consequential at all.

One such encounter that I often come back to happened when I was 18. I was having drinks with some friends (for lack of a better word) from work and there was one guy who came along who, to be honest, I’d kind of been avoiding. Of course it turned out that he chose to sit by me. As I was trying to find an escape route he asked “What scene do you belong to?”.

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On your bike, love.

I’ve fallen in love with an inanimate object. It’s been coming on for a while now, but yesterday it hit me.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not a weird fetishistic thing like those women who smear themselves with the grease from Ferris Wheels or gyrate on picket fences. Creeeepy! And it’s not an idealistic love where the mere idea of it appeals to me. No, the love I hold for my bike is not only aesthetic but entirely practical.

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