There's a pink bicycle that's was abandoned just inside our front door. I've left it there, and have been considering it all week, thinking about it every time I walk by. I keep hoping some little girl will show up and claim it, but that's a pipe dream, for sure. The fact that its abandoned tells me it's stolen - and it's such a tiny, little girl's bicycle. It's pink. It has tassels on the handle grips. It has cute little-girl stickers on the frame. I see teenagers around town, riding on bikes that are ridiculously too small for them. They have to ride standing up, because if they rode sitting down their knees would bang against their chin. You just know that bike is stolen. I keep thinking about the little girl, and their parents, and the pain they've experienced over having the bike stolen, and how that's a little piece of pain that's been added to the world. Now, multiply that little bit of pain by every stolen bike in the city. I remember the first bike my parents bought me - a little red SuperCycle with white handle grips. The thought of it being stolen just never entered into my head. In the grand scheme of things? Well, if it's the worst thing that ever happens to this little girl then she'll have a charmed life. My guess, however, is that there's a lot more where that came from.

How do you connect a bicycle with it's owner? Why don't bikes have I.D. tags like pets do? And you know what else? With all the heartache our residents and guests have lived through - all the abuse and addictions and on and on, I don't know why this bothers me so much, but it does.