Do you know what it is I fear most when I ride my bike to school and back?
It’s not the buses and cars with whom I share the road.
Or the bumps and divots in the pavement that rattle my bones.
Or the jackasses that fail to look both ways before pulling into the street.
Nor is it the freeway merges or the bums on the bike paths or the thick, gray morning fog.
It’s the parked cars. I don’t trust the fuckers.
I am sitting here this morning keeping a watchful eye on a matching pair of gray Hon brand steel four-drawer filing cabinets that were orphaned in the alley overnight. Anyone that knows me well, knows that I have a penchant for all things container. And they must also know that the fact that I do not have a hand truck at this moment is not dissimilar from a stoner with a pound of pot but no bong (Yeah, yeah I know the toilet paper roll and apple workarounds. I’m just trying to make a point … Shut up!). Anyway, so these filing cabinets are just sitting there taunting me with copious holding capacity free for the taking. Yet I have no metaphorical shovel with which to uncover the treasure chest. Fate is such a harsh mistress.
Oh man, I could totally use a treasure chest.