Today I went to the bike shop around the corner for help removing a freewheel. There were a some messenger guys there. In contrast to typical roadie stuff was the typical messenger stuff. A crusty guy with dreads holding a paper cup and having beer breath handed me an invitation to a goldsprint on Friday, and a nice postcard for the rumble through the bronx ride. We talked about how fucked up they were and the girls on the postcard. Here's a scan of the postcard.
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