I was sitting in my truck

talking to my friend on Facebook.

“What’s going on over there?” He asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“What do you mean, Nothing?”

“I mean, it’s a slow, hot, summer—the best kind. I know I should wish for excitement, but I don’t wish for anything.”

“Are you content?”

“No. It’s just that I’m waiting to win. There is something else though…”

“What’s that?”

“For some reason, everybody wants my attention.”


“I don’t know why? It’s annoying, really.

My window was down, and right then, a black boy on his bicycle rode up. “Hey, who are you talking to?”

“My friend, go away.”

“Can you help me repair my bicycle?”

“Okay,” I said. “Just give me a few seconds.”

He went to go sit on the sidewalk.

“I guess you have to go help that kid,” my friend said. He was smiling. “Are you going to call up that girl?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve asked her out twice.”

“Well… keep me informed. Things are happening for you.”

“I know.”

I went to go see the kid.

“Can you fix it?” He asked.

“Is it a flat?”


“Okay, I’ll go get my bike pump.”

I walked up the stairs and he followed me.

“No, you stay here,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Do you have any kids?” He asked.

“No,” I said.

“Are you married?”


Are you single?”



“Kid, do you want me to help you or not?”

When I got back, we put some air into his tire, and it hissed.

“You have a hole,” I said.

“What do we do?”

“Tell your mom you need a new tube. It’ll cost you six bucks.”

The air went out of him, like hope. He was totally deflated.

5 thoughts on “Me, the Bicycle Repair Man

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