The day began like any other day as I arose from my resting place in the garage. My owner came and gently picked me up and pointed me in the direction we were to go to begin the day's activities.
The wind whistled through my spokes, the bell signaled people that I was rapidly approaching, and I looked good.
My chrome was shiny, yet dusty. My brakes worked (thank goodness for my owner), and I was reflecting the morning light.
As my owner pedaled through the wooden gate at the entrance to the Orthodox Church grounds, she quietly disembarked and leaned me against a lamppost.
This wasn't just any lamppost, this was my lamppost. This is where I would spend my waking hours. Each day, I rested on this lamppost. Every day I watched the flood of people running or walking to morning prayers. Each evening, the light would protect me and guide my owner back to me. When it rained, I stayed tucked away in the garage; however, in the summertime we freely moved about the town weaving through the mass of tourists and residents. Each day, I would take my place against this lamppost.
Each day I would patiently wait for my owner to perform her duties and then hurry back to me for whatever grand adventure we would go on. I am now a fixture in this courtyard. I can be found next to my favorite lamppost. And each day, I leave these hallowed grounds and return to my resting place ready for my next great adventure.
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