The Thousands

(The following is an extract from a letter I wrote to my new bicycle. Don’t judge me.)

Mi Amore. My sweet little Dutch-style butterfly bike. No other could hold a spoke to you. You’re so cool, with your moustache (handlebars) and leathers (grips and saddles); your curvaceous frame (lugged steel) and 3-speed Shimano gears (guess that one explains itself).

You don’t grease up my pant leg, like that awful road bike I found next to a dumpster full of papayas and soiled nappies; nor do you break down on Nicholson, like that 80′s vintage I won at a carnival; or abuse my perineum like the fixie I had when I was part of a "douche" (the collective noun for a group of fixie-riders).

Oh baby, I waited so long and then I found you; customised you to my every whim, from your rustic wicker basket to your voluptuous cream tyres, and had you delivered into my arms by Melbourne’s newest, fanciest-named bicycle company, Papillionaire. Oh, my sweet bicycle, I wanna make lov-

Okay this is getting weird.