It only takes a few minutes to disable the brakes on a bike. Less time than it took to find pliers and gloves. So, thankyou Mandy, for leaning your bike against my picket-fence. The rose bushes give me cover and my hand can slide between the pickets and unhitch the cable. Easy
Very soon, you and your friend will finish your door-knocking, mount your pink cycles and pedal up the crest. Then you’ll freewheel down towards Hoffman Avenue. Good old Hoffman Avenue, the grown-ups have been trying to get the speed-limit along there lowered for ages. Ha ha, your pretty little smile’ll be no match for a 24-wheel truck. Take that! My only disappointment is that I won’t have the pleasure of seeing you go splat.
But, as usual, I don’t get the last laugh.
You and your friend kick-off to start up the slope, swerving right and left to gather speed. She suddenly veers in front of you. I’m guessing you squeeze the brakes, but you glance her back wheel, and wobble for a few yards before putting your foot out to stop. Not even so much as a graze or bruise. Bitch!
You examine the front brakes, then look sharply towards my house. Of course you can’t see into my window, but your face told me that you knew.
I raise my hand and speak into the phone I hold: “Cancel the 24-wheeler; initiate plan B,” then simply hang up. You think you’re lucky Mandy? Well you haven’t seen plan B, bitch.
You start walking down to Hoffman while your friends dismount and join you. The high pitched wail of a small military aircraft swells from a distant whine to a loud roar before shooting past my house and over your puzzled face. I will remember your face forever Mandy. The look of distress as you realize there is a 200 pounder making its way down to the road. Down to you. The resulting fireball is ingrained into my memory forever, the bent and melted bike frame, pink and black.
That will teach you for pulling down my pants in gym, Mandy.
Opening: Anony Mouse.....Continuation: Anon.