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.

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