KEEPS WAITING for a head to pop up, for someone to yell “Hey—you!” But it isn’t happening. He’s alone.
He stops ten feet away. He can’t believe he’s this close. He’s almost afraid to stare directly at it. Scramjet. The legend. He knows that it knows he’s here. He feels the energy streaming from it, as if flies are landing on his skin. Many times he has seen it streak across the land, the sprocket’s silver whirl. He has heard the chain sing.
His thoughts go back to the last time he sat upon his beloved yellow Daffy Duck trike.
He takes a deep breath, takes one step forward …