Bought New Bike Quotes

I’d loved Emory since the moment I laid eyes on her when I was fourteen. I could still see her—sitting on her bike outside the chain-link fence surrounding the school parking lot as she watched my friends and me on our skateboards that summer. From that moment on, it seemed I was always aware of her, and everything I did, I did it with it in mind that she was watching. Every joke in class. Every strut into the lunchroom. Every new haircut and every new pair of jeans. Even the Raptor. My first thought when my parents bought it was how she’d look in it.

During a visit to the county landfill, I parked my truck in front of a junk heap and stared. As I meditated on the garbage piled as high as a demolished apartment building, it struck me that everything in this gigantic entangled mass was once new. State-of-the-art. An object of want. There were BBQ grills, bikes, toys, lawn furniture, stoves, picture frames, wine racks; it was a graveyard of past desires, a swollen scrap heap of residually accumulated consumption. Then I thought: Someone once opened their wallet, swiped a credit card, and bought this stuff. And now, here it lies as worthless junk, while its debt probably remains.