Pearson 1 Mary Pearson Professor Scarborough ENG 1301-63 14 December 2012 The Stories He Tells: The Bike Messengers

The cyclist flew down the the street, peddling past the oncoming cars at neck-breaking speeds. An old man in a bright red Sonata honks furiously as Glen swerves around his front bumper. It was 5:15 pm, and the race was on. Earlier that day..... Glen wheeled his bike up to the shop, and fished the keys out of his deep pocket. Twisting the key until the lock popped open, Glen walked into the bike shop that he basically ran, despite his subordinate status. He hung the keys to the store on a small hook under the counter, and started up the ancient cash register. Making his rounds, Glen made sure the store looked pristine before open time. At 8 oclock, he flipped the sign on the door so that passers-by could read, Open. Expecting a slow day, Glen moseyed on over to his stool behind the counter, and pulled out a poetry book. Engrossed in the metaphoric parlance, Glen became deaf to the jingle of bells hooked to the door. When a rich customer strode in, toting a scarcely used $2000 mountain bike sporting a broken chain, Glen barely noticed. After a minute of haughty coughs from the rich man, Glen was finally awoken from his reverie by a sharp rap on the counter. Glens head snapped up. May I help you, sir? he inquired politely, trying to hold back an amused grin and failing at it. The pudgy rich man pompously gestured to the broken chain,

Pearson 2 and asked how much a repair would cost. Glen slid off his stool and knelt down to examine the busted bike chain. What happened to it? he asked, clearly confused. I dont know, just fix it, the rich man rebuked. Glen shrugged and wheeled it into the back where the workshop was. You can pick it up tomorrow, and Ill have it fixed up for you, he told the man. Wonderful, the man said cynically, striding out the door. Glen chuckled under his breath at the swaggering arrogance of the man, and went back to his book. A couple hours later, a bike messenger wandered into the shop, lugging his piece of crap mode of transportation. Hey, Glen. Hows it goin? he asked, an easy smile upon his face. Not too bad, Ed, not too bad. Hows the wife? Glen replied. Pissy as always, the messenger rolled his eyes. Listen, can you fix me up with a new pedal real quick? This package needs to be uptown in thirty minutes, and I just cant manage with the one I have. Glen pulled a box of spare pedals from the back, and set it on the counter, sorting through them to find the best fit. Less than ten minutes later, the bike messenger was out the door, heading out to deliver the rest of his packages. Before the cyclist took off, Glen called out, Hey man, will I see you at the race today? The messenger looked back and smirked, I will smoke the wheels off your bike. Be ready. And with that, he was gone. Glen smiled, shaking his head, and went back inside to fix the snobby rich mans bike before 5 oclock. Glen was sitting on his good old stool, reading away the day, when an onslaught of bike messengers poured into the shop. Glen, you ready? one asked, face glowing with sweat and anticipation. Yeah, just give me a second, Glen replied, grabbing the keys from their hook. The boisterous men pushed each other around, laughing and placing bets on the much anticipated weekly race. Glen pushed them all out and turned the key, locking the shop. Lets go, he said, wheeling his bike toward the road.

Pearson 3 Taking off down the street, Glen mapped out a path in his head through the labyrinth of one-way streets of Washington, D.C. In order to avoid being last to arrive at the National Mall, he pedaled with an unparalleled fierce determination. Veering to the right, narrowly missing a dog peeing on a fire hydrant, Glen tore down 17th street. His bike jockeyed back and forth, shuddering from the unnatural speed at which he pushed it. Taking the final turn, Glen slid his rusted blue bicycle into the parking lot of the Air and Space Smithsonian. Three cyclists had beat him there, but considering he didnt have to buy drinks for all twenty of the guys, Glen was pretty happy with his lot. The last cyclist to arrive was the arrogant young bike messenger that had hubristically claimed he would, smoke the wheels off Glens bike. As a punishment for the loser and as a reward for the winners, the riders made their way to their favorite spot. Glen smiled smugly as the loser bought his drink, and kicked back with his bike messenger buddies for the rest of the day.