Wheely Curious

No Pulitzer prize for this entry.

This sad, naked little chap sits all alone in the stairwell of the underground garage at work. We pass, embarrassed, twice each day. No words are exchanged.

I wonder how he came to be thus.

Why has this wheel got no clothes on? Its not buckled, there are no broken spokes, no sharpnesses in the rim. Why was it abandoned, and why in the stairwell at work? Where is the rest of the bike? How does it function as a bike with no front wheel?

Its sort of in limbo. Its still a wheel, not quite vanquished, not entirely dispatched to the great bicycle shop in the sky. Someone still has its welfare in the back of their mind; like those who leave kittens in bags on the church step, rather than toss them meowing into the river.

Maybe the stairwell is a portal to pergatory