What a dick move. Really, you steal bikes for a living? I mean, that’s what you do on the streets of Toronto? Well that and shoot a tremendous amount of narcotics. Mighty fine of you, asshole bike thief. Congratulations are also in order for making me walk home—forlorn—dark at night.

The thing is, that bike was beloved to me. I’m really not all too materialistic, but that bike was my daily mode of transportation. I count on it, and it always used to deliver. (You see what I did there, bike thief? I made that passive; passive as in you stole my bloody bike and I don’t have it anymore!) A couple things really bother me, which escalate the scenario, asshole bike thief.

  1. I was just at the James Vincent McMorrow concert at the El Mo, a show I was really looking forward to. And it was a really good show and I was quite happy. The irony is that a lot of the songs were sorrowful, like how I fucking feel right now.
  2. Thanks for cutting my lock and just leaving the lock there on the ground. Like some kind of anti-trophy awaiting my arrival. A dick move layered on top of a dick move.
  3. It’s a used Bianchi bike that won’t get you anymore than $200. I’m pretty sure heroin adds up after a while.
  4. I have to take the fucking TTC tomorrow.

You leave me in a tough place, asshole bike thief. Look at me here, ranting away on my blog—I’m clearly seething. I’m also disappointed. A similar disappointment, I can only imagine, to your grandparents’ disappointment when you chose Dickhead Bike Thief as an occupation.

Asshole.

UPDATE: So my Bianchi was definitely stolen. Why you ask? Because I found my exact bike (and I mean down to the customized bike seat) on Craigslist here. It was posted to Craigslist not even 48 hours after it was stolen from pretty much across the bloody street. Best part is that it’s listed at a known Toronto chop shop, Uncle Jacobs, who has the decency to call it “a great looking bike.” The worst part is that when I went in inquiring about the bike in-store, one of the many smarmy guys said it had just been sold “an hour ago to a woman.” At least I know who the asshole bike thief is. Some kind of pseudo-closure, I guess.

RYAN BOLTON

Written by Ryan Bolton

Ryan is a Toronto-based writer and photographer that likes to break the rules. His work has taken him around the world to do what he truly loves—storytelling. And drinking cold beer.

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