I finally managed to put my amazing stealth skills that I acquired in the navy to good use as, after having spent two hours roaming the dark streets of Copenhagen, I finally found my prey. I found it and dragged it back to my lair. I am the Dark Knight and the Predator, all rolled into one damned handsome package.

 

"Herro ladies..."

 

I am of course talking about my new bike which I found last night when walking from Valby to Norrebro. I found it in a dark alley, hiding and shivering – like a coward. I grabbed it by the horns and now I’m riding it’s tamed ass every single da… oh wait, no. It’s busted.

 

The trouble with “finding” bikes is, if that’s your preferred strategy for getting one, that you should never expect to find one in a good condition. Most of the working bikes are locked up and taking them would technically be considered stealing. And we all know better, right?

 

Compared to my previous beauty, this one’s a sad sight indeed. The basket is loose, both tires are shredded and the steering is unpredictable at best. When riding, it sound less like a bicycle and more like a steam train desperately trying not to explode. But where others see a corpse, I see a, erm… also a corpse but with a, uh… yeah.

 

But I’m sure I can fix it. I reckon that if I patched the tubes it just might have a few more miles in it to last just long enough for me to find a more impressive catch. Or it might explode. Seriously, a child juggling live grenades in a ring of fire would stand a better chance.

 

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