This morning two gutter creeps stacked my garbage cans, climbed my back gate, and stole my bike in broad daylight. I was ten feet away in the kitchen, and had the blinds not been down I would have seen it happen. Instead I found out ten minutes later when my wife noticed an absent bike and an open gate. I was left to stalk shoe-less and seething up and down my street until a construction worker, who’d witnessed it go down, shouted a description of the creeps. Lank greasy hair, one had a blue and white shirt, the other no shirt at all, both late twenties to early thirties. Generic Centretown skids.

I put on  shoes, bought a bat at a nearby sporting goods store, and wandered the neighborhood trying to put a name, and a bat, to vaguely described faces. I also bought a softball that I carried around to seem less like Micheal Douglas in Falling Down. It was not productive, but it was not disastrous. I am adult enough to understand that ruthlessly beating bike thieves post-facto would not be well received by the law. Even if I had caught them in the act, and been wrathful in the moment, I would have gone to prison, and they would gotten probation and help launching a go-fundme for their physical therapy.

I don’t care that much about the bike. It was new, but shitty. If they had genuinely needed it and asked nicely I might have given it to them. But I can’t shake the image of some brazen crackhead dropping into my yard, flinging open my gate, and riding off with my bike…my manhood clattering in the spokes. I’m not good with unresolved conflict, but I may just have to take the loss on this one. I am fine with vigilante action, but in the absence a clear suspect, tragic collateral damage is far more likely than righteous vengeance. Motherfuckers.