This man shows up about three times a year at my neighbour’s house. He’s riding what was once a blue bicycle but over time has Gollumed into a mobile sandwich board covered in politically-charged slogans and festooned with flags and banners written in a crabbed and crazy hand. Like his bike, his physical appearance changed over the years as he now looks like Robinson Crusoe, adrift from society with only his Schwinn to keep him company. One day we overheard him swearing a blue streak in French.
“Don’t you dare,” cautioned Rich, when he saw the twinkle in my eye.
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