Big, black, and cheap

We went to go buy a used bicycle. I was given rather vague directions
that the place to buy was on such and such a side of such and such a
bridge. We took a taxi and when we got there it was not at all obvious
that this was the right place. No one was standing around holding a
bike and looking all interested in selling. So I asked the driver.
"You used to be able to buy a bike here, but I don't think so anymore," he said.
This wasn't all that encouraging because we had traveled some way just
to get there. As soon as we stepped from the cab we were immediately
overwhelmed by people pressing in and yelling "Bike for sale... bike
for sale!"

I guess was the right place, so we just followed the first guy. Weaved
back and forth through a fish market, into one home and then around an
old outhouse to another hole in the wall where we slipped through a
four foot door into a one room home. A single light bulb hanging from
the ceiling, a bed, a desk and about 10 very stolen bikes. The door
was closed and locked behind us and the business began. The problem
was the lack of older bicycles. Every one of these were just too new,
too likely to be stolen again and brought back to be re-re-sold for
the same price.

The owner assured us there were no other bikes for sale in the whole
market even though there were literally thirty other people out there
ready to give their lives to get us to look at their available bikes.
But after refusing his prices too many times he walked us out of this
small room. Closed the door and locked it. Stepped across a small pool
of sewage and opened another small sketchy room filled with even more
bikes.

Sketchy.
But fun.

In the end, my current beauty was purchased. Tall and black and older
than I. But beautiful as the day is long and she rides like new.
Well... Almost.