I wander the city with a longing in my heart and a severe fetish for bicycle locks. Those shaped like little U's seem trivial, and the rusty hardware-store chains sealed with a padlock hardly catch my interest. But in a clearing I come upon a long black bike, a two-seater, locked to a tree by way of a massive, pendulous, impregnable, nylon-sheathed, Krypton-tempered golden chain whose links are each as thick as they are wide. It is the chain of chains, and it is there that I kneel down to pray.