I noticed her because she looked a little like Dawni’s mom. She was riding a similar bike with a basket on the front: electric blue. She was too old, though, to be Dawni’s mom. Then her mate pulled up on his electric blue bike. His back fender was fluorescent orange and green.

She took her package into the Post Office while he arranged the bikes on the rack. He pulled out a short and almost delicate chain from his small canvas tote and twirled the combination until it opened. He locked their two wheels together and followed her into the building. It was as if he locked the bikes up with a necklace.

I realized that it was enough. I could have probably broken the chain with my bare hands and baring that, I’m sure a stick and some twisting would have broken it easily. The lock was merely a token. It was just enough to prevent a stupid kid from walking away with their beat up bikes.

When they returned, he reversed the process, unlocking the bikes and handing hers to her. She got off the bike to bump down the curb, but he just rode right over it. They rode right past my car and I could see that they were even older than I thought. Maybe she was Dawni’s grandma.