flat tire; no tubes, no air-juice, nada.   henry (mijo) and i rode our bikes to second street yesterday and he got a flat. no spare tubes, no air-junk; rien de rien.

like any reasonable human-bean, henry was ready to walk the bike home.  “no Mijo! no. just ride it. you can ride that thing on a flat.” [intro to rule-v]

got a tube at jones & back on the street, swapping it out, the young kid salesman comes over to bestow geek-praise on the gios; “cool ride dude! love vintage road frames.  {looking at henry} if you’re lucky, you’ll get to have that bike someday.”

henry has never thought twice about the “piece o’junk”  the ol’man uses for bev-mo city riding, but on the way home he actually asked (in all seriousness) “dad, am i gonna get to have that bike when you’re too old to move anymore?”  shit.

muy viejo animaux!