They will whisper dark, dark tales of loneliness, and standing rigid in the cold, and the wind and the sleet.
They will vent their frustration at being leaned on but never loved.
They will try to convey the monotony of their frigid lives, stuck in the same spot, taking an eternity to rust away. With no hope, no love, no longings, no achievements, no future.
And bicycles will be moved.