Tires by Bruce Reisner

(Some mature language)

The color red causes bulls to run at you. Mad people may escalate upon seeing a wench in a red hooded sweat shirt. It’s the color of valentines, if I haven’t passed the last phase of syph. And red are the tires on my bicycle, the most wonderful bike I’ve ever owned.

The original black tires were old, anyhoo, and then I destroyed the back one trying to mount a motor kit to it. Mission Gas Moped failed, having ground a hole the size of a quarter, hopelessly flat, so I copped the cheapest new tires possible. They had to be metric size, a pain, and I had to order red side-wall dirt riding tires, because they were they only kind going cheap. Everyone else with a good bike has the new size tires. I’m a relic.

Back to this problem that has been worsening slowly: Both my legs, while near shapely as ever, are getting feebler and crumbier per annum. I have a half decent ass, for a monk my age. No matter. Over the hill. I had to take a break riding back from downtown, because both legs were uniformly, athletically hurting.

Cheesy. A cheesy situation emerged. I stopped at a convenience store in a fine hub of Northside seediness, helped my sore ass to an extra chubby hot dog with chili and cheese, that latter goo from out a cheerful plastic electric cheese fluid dispenser. The clear plastic clam case could have been Lenin’s glass tomb as sacred as that big weenie looked, shrouded like Tourin in all that chili and cheese. It was a handsome and sepulchral package.

Suppose I got kicked in the head by a camel when I was a whelp. And like stupid, I navigated weenie and bike to the park across the street. Chowing down on a bench, the cheese and chubby hot dog making me into mere sprite happy as a pig in shit, the Ruby Slippers glistened. No. Not the shoes on some movie witch. It’s now, baby. It’s now. My tires, Valentine. My tires are the Ruby Slippers. I’m transfigured. Not much, though. Those tires on my bike have attractive power.

Here’s why everything is a ball buster. The Ruby Slippers have true attractive influence on people. The rub is that I’m still me, and prefer not to be accosted by two older gentlemen who are estranged from the Internet. That’s enough. That’s all it takes to incite nutty, elderly dudes in the park. One of them got a wee closer to me than I like, and asked, “where you get them tires?”

Navigating the big hot dog, I replied, “Off the Internet.” This putz doesn’t lie. Ebay. Good deal. Little freaky looking.

That didn’t end the conversation. The two men grumbled back and forth, “Yeah, Internet, huh, huh, huh..”

“I got me a good bike, too.” one of the two assured me. Nothing in the park is as believable as, say, a fortune teller, but I had no reason to doubt his status.

“You can get tires cheap at Walmart,” I interjected, like I was trying to save a nerdy conversation at a frat party.

Fences. August Wilson wrote a play titled Fences. He was an astute playwright.

You don’t get handed, with pink feathery tongs, a pair of Ruby Slippers for no reason. The Internet is a ring of heaven. Or hell, to those who don’t have credit cards, checking accounts, or enough cash to fish up a money order from the Loan-Till-Payday shack—pleasantly angled against a bail bondsman’s store front, flanked on the other side by a place than does your acrylic finger nails.

There was ‘the fence’ between me and two garrulous men on the street. No sooner than I could say “off the Internet,” than up sprung ‘the fence’, with barbed wire running along the top, vaulted rickety out of the unseasonably warm February mud. Dirty mounds of snow remain, but it’s been warm as otter pee two days running. Pretty and too sweet to take on anything except a fairy tale. On my side of the fence, people have a credit card.

Tires © 2011 Bruce Reisner. Bruce is a frequent guest writer on readthisplease and joins the Now with a contribution from his street observations. Visit his blog at anokcorralofthoughts.blogspot.com

Opinions and satire expressed are those of the writer and not necessarily now.readthisplease.com.

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One Response to “Tires by Bruce Reisner”
  1. a fine combination of travel piece and poetry Bruce. I enjoyed this one.

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