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THE GAZELLE’S SWAN SONG

1 December 2010, 15:20

This neighbourhood is just where I belong. I’ve stood here for so many years. In full view of the world. Ever seen me − me, his Gazelle?

It’s September. He lives on the top floor, my lonely hero.

For months, his windows have been open. The curtains flap at all hours. Sagging fabrics. Flag signals. How could I decipher them? Have you seen him, these last few weeks?

‘He did it himself,’ I hear someone say. ‘There was a rope. He was hanging there for three weeks. Or longer. Or not so long.’

And as for me, once his gleaming steed, what am I good for now? Twelve kilos of old iron, offered free on e-Bay. Worn out, I am, decrepit as that puny body that propelled me slower each day, a rusty heap of metal. And my torn saddle, who would abide it now? Sprint off by myself then? Round the block one more time? No chance! I’m locked, he’s got the key, my hero who won’t be coming down again.

A man comes and takes photos of me. A neighbour lady looks over his shoulder, seems a nice woman, would have been just right for him.

‘It’s a great pity,’ she says, ‘we had to cancel our street party.’

Ah yes, the annual street party. Finally making time for each other, a bit like Christmas. Not my sort of thing of course, who would say otherwise? But that warmth! How I would have loved it, if someone had grabbed me by the handlebars and dragged me there.


Photography: Witold de Man

Gazelle is a famous Dutch bicycle brand.

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