Just now I returned home a friend's house to notice that there were more bikes than usual chained to the stairs outside my apartment. Absentmindedly I studied the little crowd of bikes while I fumbled for my keys. Then I realized that Gigi the Bike was not in that crowd. Gigi the bike has been in that crowd since May. I quickly checked around, thinking that somehow my bike had been in someone's way and so they had magically unlocked it and moved it. Then I noticed that there was one more lock dangling from the staircase than there were bikes. My lock. Cut. My bike. Gone.

Worth calling the cops at 2:30 in the morning? Probably not. Gigi the Bike is gone I think. Yes, I'm angry. Mine wasn't even the nicest bike there, just the most convenient. Wouldn't it have been easier to go steal someone's bike on campus where they have less chance of being seen. Oh well, poor Gigi won't get them much drug money, or help them pay for their new entertainment center or college. She wasn't that nice. But she was a lot nice than any other bike I ever owned. Well. I guess I don't need to worry about the fact that her back brakes don't work anymore. It is now someone else's problem.