Tired, but feeling better after good conversations, carrying bags and heading home to the cat, I stuck the key in the lock when we were approached by a guy riding a small, nice fixed gear bike. He was trying to sell us this bike at 1:30 in the morning - for $20. A bike that could be worth $500.
"It's a nice bike, isn't it? Only $20," the guy said as I jammed my key into the mailbox key with the front door halfway open, Wayne looking at the bike.
"Yeah, but I don't know where it came from," Wayne told him.
"Oh, I had it for a week."
Bullshit. You're trying to sell a bike that's easily worth hundreds for $20 after one in the morning - something is up.
After we got upstairs, I felt this sickening pool of disgust in the pit of my stomach. I felt bad for the person whose bike was stolen (as it oh-so-obviously was), and what it was stolen for (probably drugs - $20 for such a bike is crazy and they must be desperate for money and to get rid of the stolen goods), when Wayne said to me, "I should have bought that bike."
I thought he was crazy for a moment. It was stolen. Bad karma. But then he continued.
"I should have bought that bike and listed it on Craigslist and returned it to its owner."
And if only all bike stealing stories had such beautiful endings.