the tragedy!

My roommate just called to tell me my bike's missing.
It was just last night we were riding back from the Mission and I said I wonder if it's finally time for a better bicycle. But my 1950s, $15 garage sale bicycle, fixed with 3 Saturdays of love at the bike kitchen, ridden many a Saturday afternoon to the park and many a Thursday night out drinking, which I ride to the gym because I don't want to walk down 9th street in the dark by myself, with its gears I can't quite figure out how to change, my stylin' faded rustcolored bicycle that I never had to worry about getting stolen - I wasn't ready to give up on it yet. Now it looks like it's been stolen. I swear I locked the patio when I left this morning. And our neighborhood really isn't that bad. I mean - I didn't think it was.
Sigh.