Stolen Bike, Quiet Revenge

Jake didn’t flinch when the truck rolled over the bike that had taken him almost a year of Saturdays to afford; he just watched the frame crumple like an extra scene in a movie he hadn’t agreed to be in. While my anger bloomed hot and legal, filling with words like “negligence” and “responsibility,” he only asked whether I had a spare notebook. His jaw was set, not in rage, but in something colder and more deliberate, the kind of stillness that comes right before a decisi… Continues…