A discreet ghost entry: They have stolen my bike and all I have left are these lively photos to remember it by. And just when I was beginning to trust (it wasn’t stolen for that reason, it was still padlocked after all). That’s all there is. I’ll quit while I’m ahead but not in comments
From left to right, top to bottom: Chairs for Sale, The greenhouse in Ballarat that not even Tim Burton would use as a film setting. A tap in the cemetery. A workshop in the Tramway museum.
Mudo’s comment:
My bike was in a porch that locks from the outside, padlocked to a pole. It was in the safest place I have ever been in, in my life. It’s as if Pleasantville had just got a splash of colour.
I have hidden this entry because I don’t want this to be an important event in the context of a place where trust makes the world go round. Of course, my friends and workmates offered to lend me their bikes but I refused their offers. I am afraid that it would get stolen.
Still life for our thief: Cobwebs on taps and Tim Burton Greenhouse. Seats with nobody sitting in them.
