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    | |      c   o   m   m   u   n   i   c   a   t   i   o   n   s     | |
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           ...presents...          My Bike
                                                        by Lupo

           __//////\   -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-   /\\\\\\__
                    __      Grand Imperial Dynasty      __
 Est. 1984   \\\\\\/ cDc paramedia: texXxt 410-12/05/2007 \//////   Est. 1984

  ___    _   _    ___     _   _    ___       _   _      ___    _   _      __
 |___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons__|

        My bike.

        I never ride it anymore.  It sat in my living room for years.  People
would ask to buy it, borrow it, etc.  I could never let it go.

        Never really thought about why I couldn't part with it.  That's just
the way it was.  Though in my heart, I knew why.  It's my silent reminder of
where I came from, what I've been through, and what I need to keep in mind.
You never really know who your friends are.

        That bike took me many places.  It also revealed a begrudging friend.

        I was about 16 when I got that bike.  Bought it for 50 bucks from a
friend of mine.  It was sure to be stolen from the tweakers in the Tenderloin.

        I rode that bike everywhere, all over the city.  Mostly downtown,
though.  When I was a kid, that's where I lived.  Well, when I was a teenager.
I moved out of my house when I was 16 years old.  My mother was a bit nutty to
say the least.

        So I moved downtown; that's all a kid could afford.  I moved in with
my best friend's brother.  We shared a small studio apartment.  I had to make
some money somehow, but I couldn't work because I was too young and my mother
was getting welfare for me.  I didn't want her to lose that or she would be
homeless.

        Anyway, I met this guy named Chewy down on Market St.  He was a black
dude who sold dime bags of weed.  We became friends pretty quick.  He was
funny and pretty cool with me.  We never had any type of thing going or
anything.  I just got my weed from him.

        We hung out everyday, though, so all the crumbs in the hood thought I
was his girl.  About 3 months later, he got arrested on some rape charge or
something and went to prison.  From hanging out with him all that time, I knew
all his customers and suppliers, so I just kind of stepped in and took over
his business.  His suppliers would front me the stuff so as long as I paid
them back; I had no issues.

        So I got this bike to ride around on because you could never stay in
the same place for to long.  The cops were always on your ass, especially
mine.  I was special to them.  I was like the local station's pet project or
some shit.  That's a whole different story though.  A very long one at that.

        This does have to do with one of those cops and my bike, though.
I don't want to use his real name, so I will call him Cranky Fuck, or C.F. for
short.  Now, C.F. really liked to harass the hell outta me.  He would fuck
with me all the time.  Every time he saw me, he would search me, lecture me,
and generally just fucking fuck with me.  Damn, I hated it.  At the time, it
seemed like he had some personal vendetta against me.  He was on my ass all
the damn time.  Which was really strange to me.  Even though I was some kid
slanging weed on Market St., it was strange to me because NONE of the other
cops messed with me.  I somehow had become friends with some of the
plainclothes cops in the area and they had made it known in their own way that
I was to be left alone.

        So there I was, 16 years old, selling weed.  I knew all of the other
dope dealers and I knew all the damn cops.  Very strange part of my life, to
say the least.

        Anyway, back to C.F.  So this guy, it must have been that he knew he
wasn't supposed to arrest me and he probably really wanted to and it drove him
nuts, I'm sure.  So instead, he harassed me as much as he could.  Any and
EVERY single time the man saw me, he would search me, yell at me, and
generally be a pain in my ass.

        So, long story short, about a year and a half of this went by.  Then,
one day, I was on the corner doing my thing.  One of the other cops came up
and told me, "You better watch it today; something's up and if you are around,
they are going to get you."  Well, of course, I in all my cockiness did't
listen.  There was no way they would get me.

        So I was sitting behind Popeye's Chicken selling my weed, minding my
business, and who the fuck happened to come along?!  Goddamn C.F.  Sure enough
and true to style, he stopped the car and started his shit.  Well, after all
this time of him messing with me and never finding anything, that day was his
lucky fucking day!

        He found 6 or 7 dime bags of weed on me.  Goddamnit!

        So into the cuffs I went.  First, he took me to the station, cuffed me
to this bench that they had when you first walked in.  He left me there for a
bit.  Then he took me into his office.  He wanted to make a deal with me.  If
I would rat out the other dealers in the area, he would let me go.

        I told him, "No.  Just take me to Juvenile."  I had never been in
trouble before; I knew I wouldn't be there long.  Off we went to Juvenile.  I
was such a cocky shit that I gave him directions to get there.  I look back
now and see why he messed with me so much.

        We got there and they threw me in a little tiny room with a steel
door and ants crawling around; it was gross.  I did NOT like it.  They gave me
a teddy bear (which I still have) and a book to read.  I got to call my mom
and my aunt.  They both showed up an hour later STINKING DRUNK to pick me up.
I gave them cab money to go to my mom's house and I went back downtown.  I
still had some money because when C.F. searched me, he failed to find the $20
in my vest pocket.

        So there I was, back downtown in McDonald's getting some food, and who
the fuck came walking in the door?!!  C.F.!  If looks could kill, I would have
dropped dead right on the spot!  He didn't say a word; he just walked up to
me, snatched me by the ear, and literally dragged me outside.  He threw me in
his cruiser and drove me around the area, dumping me smack in the middle of
U.N. Plaza.  Then he told me, "If I ever see you around here again, I'm going
to tell everyone you're my Snitch!  Get out of my car!"

        I was pretty scared at that point; he was PISSED, or so he seemed.
Looking back he probably was really pissed at me.  I would have been, too.  I
had been a total shit that night, and there I was no more than 2 hours later
300 feet from where he had arrested me.

        I went home and life went on.  I still saw him now and then, but I was
close to 18, so soon after he arrested me I got a job and got off the streets.
I still did my thing; I just did it off the street corner.  He basically
started to leave me alone when on the rare occasion he would see me, as I was
working and wasn't on the corner selling weed anymore.

        One day, I was having some problems with my bike and needed some work
done on it.  I went down to the station to find one of my friends to see if
he would fix it for me.  (How I felt comfortable doing this considering what I
did for a living is an entirely different story.)

        Anyway, there I was, looking for my friend, and damn it, there came
C.F.  He asked me, "What are you doing here?"

        I told him that I was looking for so-and-so because I wanted him to
fix my bike.  His response to me was, "Why would you ask him to do that?
Don't you know I'm the bike cop?  I can do it."

        I was very much thrown off by this considering our history, though it
had been several years since he had arrested me.  At this point, I was about
20 years old, and I had a job.  I also lived in a better neighborhood.  Still,
I was thrown off.  I told him, "No."

        So I saw my friend and asked him to fix my bike and told him what had
happened with C.F.  He told me to let C.F. do it.  If the guy said he would,
he would.  Out of sheer curiosity, I called him up at his office and asked him
to fix my bike, just to see if he actually would.

        He said that he would. I don't know why; maybe it was his way of
apologizing for messing with me so much.  He came to my job and picked up my
bike.  A couple of days later, he called me to say that it was done.

        He not only redid my bike totally, but he scraped off the serial
numbers on it, too.  This was still my stolen bike from back in the day.  So
when he gave it to me, he told me, "Don't ever bring a stolen bike to me
again."

        I never really saw him much after that.  But when I did see him, we
would say "hi" to each other and all was good.  That's the story of my bike
and C.F.

        What prompted me to write this was as follows.  I am now 34, and I
have a small business that requires to me to make deliveries to the same
police station that C.F. worked at years ago.  So I went in last week, and
there he was.  I hadn't seen him in over a year. 

        He stopped when he saw me and didn't say anything to me; he just
stared at me.  Finally, I said, "Hi."  We said a couple of words, and went on
our way.

        After I left, I started thinking about all of this.  I wish I could
have said "thank you" to him.  Now that I am older and I look back on
everything he ever did to me, though I hated him for it at the time, I see
that he was just trying to help me in his own way.

        I am sure that there were many other times he could have arrested me
or made my life a lot harder, but he did not.  He kept on my ass everyday for
years like white on rice.  I always kept him in mind when I was a kid, doing
stupid shit.  I knew then that if anyone would arrest me, it would be him and
that kind of kept me in check.

        Thank you, Cranky Fuck, for giving me a chance.

         ___________    BLATTA---NON     EST---VACCA     ___________
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          || \./ ||          \       \ /        /         || \./ ||
|\        ||_3 4_||        /|NON     cDc     NON|\        ||_3 4_||        /|
| -------._((___))_.------- |EST      |      EST| -------._((___))_.------- |
|\/)(\/\   [ x x ]   /\/)(\/|   \     |     /   |\/)(\/\   [ x x ]   /\/)(\/|
|(YHVH) >A  \   /  O< (AHIH)|    \   EST   /    |(YHVH) >A  \   /  O< (AHIH)|
|/\)(/\/  _ (' ') _  \/\)(/\|     \   |   /     |/\)(/\/  _ (' ') _  \/\)(/\|
| -------' ) (U) ( '------- |      \  |  /      | -------' ) (U) ( '------- |
|/        ||  .  ||        \|    DAEMONSEMEN    |/        ||  .  ||        \|
          || / \ ||                ELIGERE                || / \ ||
     V    ||/\X/\||    E                             V    ||/\X/\||    E
          |A D N I|          the original e-zine          |A D N I|
         /_________\         - today, tomorrow -         /_________\
      xXx  DYNASTY  xXx            FOREVER            xXx  DYNASTY  xXx
                                                                     _
      Oooo                 xXx / RULE BOVINIA \ xXx                 / )   __
 /)(\ ( . \                                                        /  (  /  \
 \__/  )  /  Copyright (c) 2007 cDc communications and the author. \ . ) \)(/
       (_/     CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a registered trademark of    oooO
       cDc communications, 1324 Lexington Ave. #173, NY, NY 10128, USA    _
  oooO              All rights left.  Edited by Myles Long.         __   ( \
 / . ) /)(\                                                        /  \  )  \
 \  (  \__/       Save yourself!  Go outside!  Do something!       \)(/ ( . /
  \_)                     xXx   BOW to the COW   xXx                    Oooo
                                    .ooM