The Bicycle Thief | The Dreamweaver

I had gone to pick up my daughters at their school.

I took my bicycle and as I didn't want to leave it unattended outside, I brought it up to the second floor where I was waiting for the bell to ring.

Meanwhile, I left the bike momentarily in front of one of my daughter's classroom and walked down the hall to look into the classroom of one of my other daughters.

The bell rang so I walked back to my bike to make sure it wasn't obstructing the corridor, but when I returned just seconds later, the bike was gone.

I ran downstairs thinking I'd be able to catch the culprit before they left the school grounds, but by the time I got downstairs and into the school yard, it was packed with children leaving the building and my bike was nowhere to be seen.

Just then, I saw my daughters and told them what had happened.

One of my daughters was looking at a young boy who was standing behind me smirking.

I turned around and asked the boy what was so funny and he quickly dummied up.

I asked him if he knew anything about my bicycle and he suddenly became flushed and nervous.

Certain he knew who had stolen by bicycle, I began to scold the young boy and at one point, became so enraged, I picked him up and held him up horizontally.

The boy finally acquiesced and confessed to knowing who the bicycle thief was and agreed to take me to him.

The boy told me to follow him, so two of my daughters and I began following the boy who started running up the street.

The boy had gotten a good head start, and I found it difficult to keep up with his pace.

After a few minutes, we arrived at an office building where the boy said I would find what I was looking for.

I told the boy he could go as long as he gave me his word not to tell anyone what had happened.

My daughters and I took the elevator up and walk down a long corridor until we reached the designated room.

We opened the door which had been left slightly ajar.

Inside the room, there was only a table and an old metal file cabinet.

I opened the file cabinet to find there was only one, overstuffed manila folder.

Convinced the folder had the "information" I was looking for, I began thumbing through the file.

A few minutes later, I told my daughter, who had been standing guard at the door, that I had the information I needed and that we had better get going before someone came.

Just as we were walking back to the elevator, we saw the night watchman emerge from the other end of the corridor.

Seeing us, he called out and commanded us to stop.

Seeing the stairwell, I told my daughters to run and follow me to the fire exit.

We ran down the stairs and heard the night watchman's footsteps closing in on us.

Pushing the door open on the ground floor, I noticed the evening doorman had just come on duty so I stopped running and casually greeted him.

The doorman opened the door for us and cordially bid us a good evening.

Once we were out of the building, we ran down the street and discarded the beige trench coats and hats we'd been wearing to disguise our identities.

I looked back to see no sign of the night watchman and we crossed the street and disappeared into a crowd.

Then I woke up.

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