A Ticket for the Ride Home

After two whole days patrolling the cafe patio, my joints were craving a cozy trip back home. I scrambled up from under the wicker chair, darted across the sidewalk pavers, and climbed the spokes of a bicycle parked right along the curb. Nestled inside its woven wire basket was a stack of folded paper maps and a shiny, metallic silver bell. Wedged beneath the bell was a stiff white parking stub printed with crisp black numbers. I hauled the card free with both hands and propped it upright against the front wire rim like an official commuter pass. Resting against the woven metal, I'm ready to catch a ride.