Almost there had never been about the bike at all.
Evan never did buy that bicycle. He didn't need to. Walt is off the street now, in a small apartment two of Sal's regular customers helped him get into, with his prescriptions covered by a veterans' assistance program a social worker connected him with after that night at the diner. Evan still stops by most Saturdays, though now it's to visit, not to check on him.
As for the bike — Sal ordered it himself the following week, matte black frame, orange lettering, exact model and all, and told Evan it was a bonus for being, in his words, "the best employee I've ever had, and not because of the dishes." Evan tried to argue him out of it for a full five minutes before I finally told him to just say thank you.
He rides it to the diner every Saturday now. I don't think he's ever once used it to run away from anything. He's spent his whole life, since his father died, running toward the people who needed him instead.
