It's not even locked. In Glasgow someone would've been away with it.What you can't tell from the photo is how badly the bike smelled, but I've been writing a blog for a couple of years so I should be able to evoke the senses using the written word as skillfully as, say, Cormac McCarthy. Right?
Here goes:
Imagine if a dog ate a week old tandoori chicken thigh, then shat it straight out, then a cat came along and ate the shit then sicked it back up, you put that sick in a jar and add some milk then leave it next to a radiator for three weeks. When you open that jar, that's what this bike smelt like.
Fortunately the stench particles were so heavy they didn't travel very far so you had to get within a couple of feet to fully experience the nasal delight that was this bike, unfortunately in taking this photo I got that close.
*There's no S in lackadaisical, that's two things I learned today. The other being satanist Aleister Crowley used to live above the cheese shop we pick stuff up from.
