I meet my daughter, Allison, at Sushi Yoi, one of three fine Japanese restaurants within a square block of my mother’s apartment building. She arrived on her bike. She asks if I think it will be okay with her Oma if she stored her new ride in my mom’s apartment. Her new bike cost three grand, and she hasn’t had time to replace the standard grade lock she has on it with one of the expensive theft-proof shackles it demands.
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