Monday, July 14, 2008

asking for it


im all busted up. my skin is torn and my bones are aching. my pockets are skint. my turntable's broken. my ipod came up missing today. my big toe on my right foot has a fat blister on it. my nose is all stuffy. and there aint shit i can do about any of it. damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

before the night in question exploded in a spectacular unraveling of logic and common sense, it was an innocent time, full of wonder and merriment. we were at a bar and our glasses were full and there were pills that took the edge off circulating in my belly. i was already in rare form, convinced that every pore in my body bled thundering charm. we took a break into the busy street for cigarettes. my man FM had is fixed gear bike with him.* i decided i needed to ride.

if you know what a fixed gear bicycle is, then i bet you would be hard pressed to tell me why it is. the fixed gear bicycle has one gear, and its fixed. and im assuming by "fixed," they mean, "broken," because its not a gear at all. there should not be the word "Gear," in the title of what bike, because there isnt one. its just a pedal and a crank and a chain. thats it. there arent even any breaks. the only thing you can do on a fixed gear bike is pedal. you can not coast. you can not break. you can pedal. thats it. thats, "fixed."

and if you dont know what a fixed gear bicycle is, and you are 7 pints and four pills into a cozy clonazepam slur of an evening, you beg your friend to let you ride his. if for nothing less than you are on a busy city street and you just HAVE to be involved with the traffic. its more dangerous that way.

include me into the latter category.

my friend FM, bless his sinful little heart, pleaded with me not to ride his bike. he specifically said to me, "you will hurt yourself,"and with genuine concerne, not just being protective. he said it in the sort of voice that says, "i've been hurt doing this, dont be like me." the kind of voice that might be the last one you hear. but did i listen?

one thing about riding a fixed gear bike as opposed to another, completely sane and logically designed bike, is that from the looks of it, and even its description on paper, it sounds easy to ride. i mean, if you try to tell me how to ride a regular, say, ten speed bike, id be confused. switching gears? both front and back ones? two different sets of breaks? what the fuck? but fixed gear bikes, hey, they seem pretty simple.

you just keep pedalling, right? no big deal.

yeah well. after years of riding decent and normal bicycles, i had gotten a little too comfortable with coasting. i guess im pretty lazy too, and the pedalling had gotten to be a bit much. either way, i stopped my feet and the bike stopped under my body and the only thing that didnt stop was me. bam crash. chin, knees, and a huge chunk of forearm, all scraping against the pavement. it was such a bad spill that cars were stopping and asking if i was ok. another cyclist pulled to the side and helped me up. id only ridden maybe fifty feet.

success.

i limped the bike back to the bar. my forearm was shredded, blood was spilling onto the ground from under my arm cuff. my chin had a huge spot of blood the rubbed from the bottom of my lip. i was dizzy with glee though, and high as hell. i hardly even noticed at the time.

i do now though. ouch.

add that to the fact that im completely and utterly penniless, and that i dont have an ATM nor credit card (double ouch) and that my ipod, which has become something of a muse to me, is suddenly missing (ouch ouch ouch!) and now one of my turntables is broken?

jesus christ, just fuckin buy me a lottery ticket already.

*i have no idea why he had his bike with him at the bar, but he did. and he took it out with us for a cigarette.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

Creative Commons License
:gray matters: by jkg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at downtownalleys.blogspot.com.