I was at work all morning trying to hash out this tjustice stuff and nonsense–the specific recommendations for reform that I would like to present to Senator Barrios and his colleagues in the legislature. I was working from home, and had a sushi date for 2PM at Jae’s in the Back Bay. Eat at Jae’s and supposedly you’ll live forever, though I don’t know if they have proof of that.

Anyway, I was working, working, working, and rushed out, knowing I’d be late, but that it would be OK with my sushi date, who’s usually running late, too. I get downstairs to the building foyer where I usually put my bike, and it’s gone.

Someone stole my friggin bike from inside my friggin building. How ya like that?

I had a flash to Holden Caulfield seeing those “fuck you”s graffitied all over everything. That’s how I felt. Like, damn, “You can’t ever find a place that is nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any.” That bike was my place. One of ‘em, at least. I’m not about to reveal my others. Not on your life.

I missed my sushi date, of course, but my friend, bless him, had a bike to lend me. It’s not mine, but it’ll do until I can replace mine.

I’m not going to get into just not understanding at all people who go into other people’s houses and take things that don’t belong to them. I mean, this is Dorchester. I consider myself lucky. They could have stolen the bike and shot me in the head, too. So I guess I should actually be happy about all this.