Dear Diary,

My Citi Bike and I had quite a day today! I got the Citi Bike because I thought it would be a great and healthy way to get to my ex-wife's house in time for my daughter Adele's birthday party. And it would have been, too, if we hadn't gotten mixed up some business along the way.

Things have been sort of rough since I got laid off from my job, but luckily, Citi Bike is cheap—only $9.95 plus tax for a day pass. The best part about biking is you don't have to wait in traffic. I hate traffic.

First we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, which was really scenic—but there are too many damn tourists and people, generally. I guess I don't really like people, either, especially after a couple of guys tried to jack my Citi Bike while we'd pulled over to watch the boats chug along the East River. They told me I was trespassing, which is bullshit. If I want to take a minute on the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge to watch some goddamn boats, I will. I'm a reasonable guy, but the Brooklyn Bridge doesn't have a "toll."

So I guess what we had was a territorial dispute. I'd wandered into their pissin' ground or whatever the damn thing was, but I still wasn't giving up my Citi Bike—the late fees would have been monstrous. I was willing to respect their territory and treat them like men, but they couldn't leave it alone, could they? Anyway it all worked out fine. It's easy to wipe blood from a Citi Bike, and now I have a glock.

Next we rode around Central Park, which would have been fantastic, if the fucking drive hadn't been under construction. "Where you think you're going? You can't come this way," some dirtbag worker tried to tell me as I rolled up. I asked him what he was doing to the drive, and he said he was fixing it, which is absurd—two days ago it was fine. "You're telling me Park Drive fell apart in two days?" I asked him. Between you and me (and the asshole construction worker), I think the road was fine—he's just trying to justify his inflated budget. We had a little tete-a-tete about roadwork, and then I learned how to fire a bazooka.

One thing I will say about Citi Bike is that adding more time is a real bitch. The thing refused to accept my debit card, and the guy behind me was being a real dick about it. "I don't know if you've noticed or not, but there's other people wanting to use the kiosk here," he said. "There are?" I asked. "Other people waiting to use the kiosk?" I asked. "Yeah," he said. "Jeez, that's too bad," I said, before blasting the shit out of the kiosk with a machine gun. "I think it's out of order."

Clear a path, motherfucker. My Citi Bike and I are headed home on the subway. Nobody will dare mess with us there.

More tomorrow,