One bike, many bruises

So I bought a bike yesterday. At this bike recycling shop that also sells pinball machines dating from the 70's and, apparently, weed. I wonder if there's a correlation between the three.

"Did you smell anything while you were there?" GZ asked me afterwards. He knew that place since his friend the drug addict is a regular customer there. But apart from rubber and that distinctive yet inexplicable smell of junk, no, I didn't get a whiff of anything else. I guess I can never be part of a police drug squad, then.

But anyway, the bike is extremely cute, complete with a rearview mirror and a front basket. Not sure how old it is, though there are some rusty parts. Its main colour is golden brown; even the saddle is brown.

All that cuteness couldn't save me from trouble though. Riding it home for the first time from the shop - which was far far away in the city south - I fell twice and almost got hit by a car once, in between which the words "fuck", "ngehe", "anjing" and their varieties could be heard from my direction.

What do people do, anyway, when they fall off their bikes? Do they laugh at themselves to minimise the embarrassment? Or do they pretend nobody saw it? When I fell yesterday, in front of about 5 people at a bus stop and Jesus knows how many cars, I could see that those people were trying hard not to crack up. Some even looked away, kinda hoping I suppose, that I didn't see their faces, to make me feel less embarrassed. Man, I felt so sorry for myself that I almost wished I was dead.

I'll get better, you'll see.