Today is St. Patrick's Day and it is one of the largest parades in NYC. While everyone and their mother (an already obsolete saying) is busy getting hammered, I'm stuck with ...the fetus. It must be so bored in the womb- I hardly think that ONE (or twenty) drinks would bother it much. Why should I stop it from enjoying itself? I'm not craving beer right now though. What I'm craving is a bicycle. I woke up at 6am with fury filled blood boiling through my veins all because of a bike...
One year ago to this day I was riding up 6th avenue towards central park just to silence the guilt of one of my Gemini friend's personalities. I have only met three of them so far, but I think it was personality number two that started freaking out number one and number three. The day prior to this was one of the most beautiful early spring days EVER. I was supposed to be working at the dungeon, but once I got there, Gemini showed up and I told her to get her shit cause we were leaving. We got on the D train, headed to the park and rented a couple of bikes with baskets. The rental guy (some Dominican probably from my neighborhood) didn't even take any of our information other than her phone number in case we were late returning the bikes. The rental was only for 1 hour...
About 28 HOURS later, we were bringing the bikes back to the rental area at the park. What happened? Central Park got boring, the West Side Highway, a couple of hotties, Mr. Softee, a psychic and a ride to Brooklyn. We got caught up. And the Dominican? Yeah, he called... About six hours after we rented the bikes, which was right on time for a Hispanic. Here's that convo:
Oh shit. He's calling. You answer it! I can't do this.
Just pick it up. It's not like he can find us.
Ok... (Gemini answers her phone) Hello?
Hallo? Jou have bikes? We closeeng soon. Bring back the bikes.
Listen. Calm down. I'm a trustworthy person, but I can't bring back the bikes.
(muffled sounds)
Listen! We are in a STICKY situation! (At this point we were on our way to the psychic) I promise that I will return the bikes tomorrow.
No good. My boss...
If I can bring the bikes back tomorrow, then I will make love to you. (And yes, this is verbatim)
Ok baby. Bye.
*click*
He fell for it.
So the next day we bring the bikes back while the parade is in procession. Do you know how fucking hard it is to swerve through thousands of drunk people and traffic? We found the Dominican, gave him the bikes, his boss tried to charge us more money, we spit on the ground like disgusted foreigners and went back to the dungeon. That was a year ago. Since then, I have stolen four more bikes, had them all stolen from me in a twist of karma and now, what I'm craving the most (besides a Newport) is a beach cruiser and a basket. Can I have that little slice of life that I took for granted and abused? Apparently not, since I have been banned from renting bikes at Central Park. Irony is funny. In New York, people act like they have their heads so far up their asses that they can't remember normal people. BUT, in all of the millions of faces here, they sure as hell remember someone who stole four bikes from them almost a lifetime ago. Fuck this shithole. *And I DON'T mean that in a homosexual way. I'm going back to bed...
About five hours later...
Some dreams DO come true...
