Finding Momentum

Mike’s been hav­ing a bad week. You can read it in the grim lines set in his jaw and his list­less stare.

Thurs­day, he’s rid­ing his bike at night when his chest pains hit. He blacks out and next thing he knows he’s in an ambu­lance. He asks for his bicy­cle, and they tell him the police have impounded it.

Mike’s a lit­tle angry.

After being released two days later, he heads over to the PD to dis­cover that his bike is not rid­able with a dam­aged chain and the wheels bent out of align­ment (he sus­pects that some­how the police have mis­han­dled his bicy­cle). So he sends it off to the shop to get repairs, and it sets him back forty dollars.

Mike’s been work­ing under a ver­bal arrange­ment with one of the work­ers at the food court, help­ing him out with cleanup duties at 6AM with an agree­ment to share a por­tion of his wages.

Sat­ur­day morn­ing, Mike arrives at the food court and pro­ceeds with his tasks. He sees his part­ner get paid in cash and pro­ceed to walk out on him with­out say­ing a word.

Per­haps “angry” is the wrong word. He’s frus­trated (you can read it on his face), but he’s silent about it. I sense this hasn’t been the first time, nor the worst by any means. I wade through the jar­ring silence.