The Perfect Crime

There’s this old bicycle sitting out on my balcony. Yesterday, I Googled “How to recycle old bikes?” Some results recommended I donate it to a local charity and other offered phone numbers for removal. What a hassle! I don’t have time for that. I want to get rid of this bike now.

Then it came to me, what if I just leave it by my condo’s recycling containers. Surely they’ll know what to do with it.

In stealth mode, I walked the bike out of my apartment, down four flights of stairs and into the garbage area, shoulder checking occasionally to ensure nobody saw. Bikes are not approved waste items, after all.

I fled back upstairs, my nerves shaking. Moments passed. My conscience was relentless.

Unable to relax, I returned to the scene of the crime. Maybe I’ll call the phone number to have someone pick it up and avoid the stress.

To my surprise, the bike was no longer there. It’s only fifteen minutes ago. And then I remembered, an unlocked bike is as good as a wallet full of cash. I brushed off the dust from my hands in a job-well-done fashion and said to myself, “the perfect crime.”

 

For more of my comedic writing, please check out my Humour Section

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