I pulled up the corner of Dolores and Dorland yesterday to lock up my bike when my eyes were confronted with this chill ride: a sick spoke lacing pattern, dice on the valve stem, two thirteen pool balls capping off some twisted bars, a fork that says “I appreciate the finer things in life,” and frame geometry that says “fuck you man, I'll get there when I get there.”

I couldn't even bring myself to take the open space on the bike rack, I just locked up to the trashcan to the right.