Marco sighed. “I know, I know. I just thought… it’s a bike.”
Marco walked it back to his dorm, grabbed a rag, and cleaned off the black spray where he could. The decal was still there—scuffed, but legible.
Marco laughed—half relief, half embarrassment. He’d dodged a $50 fine and spent weeks worrying over nothing.
“That’s it. Oh—and the first registration is free for students.”
Two months later, that decal saved him. His bike vanished from outside the SDFC. He filed a report with the ASU PD, gave them the registration number, and three days later, they found it—locked to a different rack, spray-painted black, but the serial number matched. The thief hadn’t noticed the green decal under the fresh paint.
Defeated, he wheeled his bike toward the Parking and Transit Services office near Rural Road. Inside, a student worker named Elena glanced at his bike. “Nice ride. Kryptonite lock?”
“Yeah.”
He sprinted across the ASU Tempe campus, backpack thumping, and skidded to a stop at the bike rack outside the MU. His silver Trek— The Silver Bullet , he called it—was still there. Good. But tucked under the wiper blade of his seat was a bright orange slip.