Keil uneventfully rides a bike.

I needed a walk earlier this night.

So I walked a few steps away from the complex and noticed a light drizzle. I ran back and got my bike because I love biking in the rain and I tend to make poor life choices at nightfall. I changed into a light windbreaker jacket and some swim trunks. I wore those swimming shoes you sign your soul off at water parks and never return ever again.

The area I live at isn't all too sketchy; we have lampposts in front of every other house, the trees here are more of a gardening aesthetic than a living organism, and if I wanted to really push myself, I can bike 14 miles to get to the 14th/15th-ish biggest mall in the US (I haven't checked the stats in years so don't quote me on it). I felt comfortable just riding casually at 10:30 PM. I'm not afraid of a sports car booming ghetto rap hitting me at 80 miles per hour nor a sociopathic killer hiding in the bushes ready to strike. It's peaceful enough to leave your bike one day at your front yard and not expect it to be stolen the next morning.

I usually bike in the residential area where it's peaceful, peaceful to the point of boredom. There were no parties going on and the only thing memorable was my lesbian block neighbors pulling into their driveway and unloading a lot of boxes. Knowing them, they were probably unloading skiing gear or kinky sex things out of their trunk. I waved hi. They hollered me to go inside because it's started to downpour. I smiled ignorantly and rode on.

The farther away I am from the complex, the more plastic furniture and garage sale lawn ornaments stood guard in front of paint-chipped singled-floored houses. There was also an alarmingly large amount of birdhouses on the nearby pine trees, enough to question if the resident had enough human interaction to be deemed mentally sane.

I normally wouldn't be frightened from driving/biking in this area, but the ever-changing downpour, the straggling warm fog, and the rust-colored light from the flickering lampposts added to eerie ambiance. I feel like if my bike chain broke, I would end up staying at a Rocky Horror-esque mansion for the night.

The way back was dull since everything amusing that would of been seen was already seen. I shifted gear and cruised down the gentle hill. At the time, I was not paying attention to the speed I built up and the next moment, I was propped up in someone's arms like Cinderella romantically caught by Prince Charming before she tripped except it was not nothing like that. I could feel the spongy sleeves of a man's soaked sweatshirt on my back and and bitingly tight grip on my left arm. I looked to my right and the first thing I noticed was a thick brown pedophile mustache you'd expect from a 1970's child molester or Ned Flanders.

I couldn't hear what the guy was saying because of the rain. I pushed myself upward, but my hand stung in contact with the cold, gravel-littered ground. I looked at my palm for a second and saw slivers of skin peeling off and trickling blood already being washed away. I stood up completely and thought to myself: thank goodness no other part of my body was hurt.

The rain picked up. I had to go home. Now. I wanted to properly thank the man, but I couldn't see much of the man's face. The lamppost was directly above his head and anything under it would be dark by contrast from a low angle. I am a tiny Asian so everything under that lamppost was a gigantic silhouette. I screamed Thank you, hoping my message would reach him despite the sharp hissing and cracking of the heavy rain. I dashed a few yards to reach my bike and sprinted the few miles back to my apartment.

I took a shower, disinfected my hand, and pulled out the loose skin with tweezers. Now I finished typing this and only until now I realized my left thigh is extreme sore. I hope I can walk tomorrow. I need to buy food.