It had always been there. For as long as he had taken that path to work. Through rain storms, dark nights, hidden beneath snow drifts. Every day he'd make his way to and from the office, following the alleyway behind his apartment and each day, without fail, it'd still be sitting there.
At first he didn't pay any attention to it. He had seen plenty of bikes throughout the city - chained up in all sorts of places. Against trees, street signs, traditional bike racks. There was never a shortage of them. But as his routine of walking to work continued, he began to take notice of a particular bike frame leaning up against the backside of a building, attached to a rain gutter. The more and more he passed it, his curiosity only continued to grow. It was always in the same spot, facing the same direction - he wondered who the owner could possibly be. So he tried adjusting his schedule by a couple minutes in the morning. Standing under the shower for a little longer, taking his time and enjoying his coffee a bit more, even opting to cook something for breakfast instead of rushing through a bowl of cereal. But as long as his pushed his schedule, the bike was always there, waiting to great him.
It didn't take long for his mind to begin wandering. Creating grandiose stories about where the owner could possibly be. The first few weren't anything special. Maybe they had just lost the key to the lock or the bike was actually stolen, left somewhere to not be found and eventually became forgotten about. But as each day passed and he continued to see the bike - his imagination only became more vivid. He pictured the owner defaulting on their taxes, being dragged away by the IRS and thrown in jail. Sitting in their concrete cell, thinking about life on the other side - remembering the stranded bike. Maybe the owner had become blind over time and forgotten where they had placed it. Another possibility was a horrible accident. A car crash, a homicide - even skydiving with a faulty chute. But maybe at the same time they survived said accident and had some sort of amnesia. Completely forgetting that their beloved bike was still chained outside in the elements.
Each day that passed he felt more attached. He had noticed the little things. That paint was chipping on the frame where the seat met the metal or a thick colony of rust had taken residence amongst the links of the chain. He even knew what the bell sounded like, occasionally ringing it to and from the office. By no means was it a bad bike. It looked like it would ride fine - it just needed some tender love and care. A new coat of paint, some new tires - the spokes could be wiped clean. It wouldn't take much.
Then one day he made himself a promise. A deadline. He'd give it two more weeks.
When the morning after the deadline broke, he woke up early, giddy to get the day started. He rushed through his routine, going as quickly as he possibly could before bolting out the door with a full backpack slung over his shoulders and two new tires in his hands. Making his way down the alley, he stopped at the bike and gave a quick glance around. Satisfied no one was around, he got to work. Putting on the new tires, wiping down the frame, chipping some of the rust off. When the cosmetic tasks were done, he reached into the backpack and pulled out a saw. Thankfully the lock had become weakened by the weather and didn't need much coercing to finally break free. Standing up, he was proud what stood before him. Sure, it wasn't brand new nor the best looking bike he had ever seen but he was glade he was able to save it - free it from its shackles.
He was amazed by how it felt beneath him as he coasted down the alleyway towards the office.
He felt like a kid again.
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