facts of life

the bees and i both considered it a perfect place to house our prized and existential possessions: their honey and home, my bicycle. unfortunately (for me and also unbeknownst to me), they had claimed it first. so when i flung the red frame up against the signpost, swarms of bees flew out of its tiny apertures, attacking me before i had a chance to lock fast my claim. that i was unable to do so also meant that i could not merely slink away in defeat—although any potential thief would also have to confront these same adversaries—but was forced to reach back in 1/16 time (all the while drawling my invectives likeslow, albeit from a throat that was, mercifully, without constriction) and salvage the bike.

upon consideration, this ordeal was most effective: while very few measures (even having it compounded by the UChicago police) have curbed my tendency to hitch up to undesignated posts, i have seen, in the brilliant flash of stinging welts, that bars provided and intended precisely for such activity never seem to have small seductive holes in their surfaces.