The guy that tried to steal my bike, I recognize him because his face is all melted like it used to be a candle. I see him all the time because his drug dealer lives on my street.
This neighbourhood gets you so sad sometimes. It’s like when you leave a few pennies in the pockets of your jeans, and you hear them going around in the washing machine, and there’s nothing you can do but listen.
I went on my balcony to run down the fire escape to see how much the pay parking on my street was, only there were these three guys, two of them sitting in my chairs, and the third bent over my bike, right in the middle of a Saturday.
What are you doing?
Well, it looks like you’re trying to steal my bike.
That’s when the guy that was leaned over my biked turned to show his face, only it wasn’t a face, just an eyeball peeping from skin like it was looking thorough a crack in a wall.
Every time I see that guy with the burnt off face, I want to tell him: Get the fuck out, I don’t want to see you around here no more, just like that, only I’m afraid he might kill me. He looks like the type of guy that would actually kill you if you said a thing like that.