Two youths approached me as I locked up my bike. They warned me how easy it was to break locks and that the city centre isn't a safe place to leave your bike. They demonstrated the ability of their feet by dislodging some wheels that were apparently better than mine, due to their suspension.
Not one for aggro, I smiled and engaged in some banter, jokingly asking them not to steal my bike. I was trying to mix mature poise with some youthful cheek. Of course, they could outdo me on the latter. After all, I was undeniably the owner of a midrange commuter bike.
I should have just hopped back on and parked it somewhere else. Pride is a strange thing, I thought as I walked away from my locked bike, almost certain that they would soon pleasure in its demise.
I was meeting a girl at the pub, intending to break up with her after a couple of months of seeing each other. “If my bike dies, so be it, I deserve it,” I thought as I avoided the pressing subject, and her eyes.
This is horrible, I thought as we hugged on the street. It was cold and there was potentially a long walk home. “This girl is hurt because of me”, I thought as we walked in opposite directions away from each other forever.
The good news was I soon found my bike seemingly untouched. I felt relief cycling home, on two counts. As I showered before work the following day, I thought about crap like upsell and cross-sell. It was a big day coming up in the office.