Wheels

As was not unusual, I was in a rundown building somwhere on the South Side. I followed the darkened hallways to their frightening ends and eventually found myself in a storage room that really wasn't all that scary. Just musty. And very dark. I could hardly see what I was doing, although I really wasn't supposed to be doing anything, especially there. Not that I had anywhere else to be. And I wasn't alone: two other guys were there as well, probably because they'd heard me. Or had I heard them?

We were all there scrounging around - looking for something that might help us occupy the time for a little while. There were huge piles of musty old rugs that must have been there for ages - they could have been thousand year old Kermans, but they were of no use to me. They just made it difficult to get around the room. If we could climb up high somehow, use them as a landing pad ... but no. The other two were a little more adept at picking up the big rolls and looking them over, so I left them to it.

After a little hunting I found what must have been part of an old cart - a side of one, two-and-a-half feet high, maybe, and just as long. I thought I might be able to use it as a bicycle, or at least a scooter, so I took it out into the hallway, where the floors were relatively clear of debris. Relatively. There was a little more light, too. My "bicycle" was just three or four straps of metal, with a couple of coasters on one end, but I got a running start and jumped on top of it, saddle style. It wasn't made for this, of course, and it instantly slid out from under me when I jumped on it. After a while I got the hang of it well enough to coast along for a few feet at a time. I don't know why I bothered; I could see at the time that it wasn't going to take me anywhere I wanted to go. But where did I want to go? Nowhere.