When Julie’s bicycle disappeared, she researched an online replacement, arranging a meet up outside the donut shop.

Jimmy the vendor smiled, revealing smoker’s teeth. “Try it out.”

Jimmy hacked into a tissue as the woman tooled around the parking lot, testing gears. This stuck up blonde in a trendy yoga suit could afford a new Bianchi. Why were the rich so cheap? He almost hated her, until she crowed: “Look Ma no hands.”

Mentally, he started spending her money.

Julie darted behind the coffee shop and, hands shaking, lifted her own bike into a weathered Honda Civic. Sometimes you win.