Torqued

I am not a terrorist, threat, or thief. I am not in a gang. I roll alone. I share the road. I am anti-pollution.

Yet, I was denied entry at the Air and Space. Twice. I was a threat to the planes. “Did you say planes?” Plane? As in plane? THAT plane? Up THERE? Waaaay up there!

My weapon of mass destruction? Combination wrench. 7 inches of cool, hard steel. Forged. 15mm of felonious fun.

Fierce. Cunning. Conniving. You caught me. I am not happy to see you; I actually have a wrench in my pocket. When asked, “what’s it for”, thank god I said wheel and not hub.

Indeed. I thought it was fool proof. Me, in bright orange fluorescent clothing, with a small messenger bag, and getaway pedal bike. Propeller by propeller, stealing guarded aviation with no one the wiser.

Abort, ABORT! Thwarted in my true plan to dismantle the Hubble, store it in my satchel, and ferry it home by bicycle. All with a 15mm wrench. They don’t call me McGyver for nothin’