STANDS BEFORE THE BIKE. He cannot read the word on the yellow flank. He assumes it is Scramjet. He can’t believe he’s this close. He reaches out, touches a pink handlegrip with the tip of his finger. Yes, it’s real. He lays a hand lightly on the flank. He pets it. Nothing happens. The Great One is still, as if napping, beast and slim shadow leaning on the kickstand.
Do it.
I can’t.
Do it.
It’s not mine.
Who cares? Climb on. Ride. No one will know.
I might get hurt.
You might get the ride of your lifetime. You’ll make history. They’ll make a statue of you on Scramjet. Put it next to The Kid.
I’m scared.
You will amaze everyone. Now they’ll be scared of you. Even Big Kids.
I’m little.
Not after you do it.
I can’t.
They broke Daffy. Do it for Daffy.
I can’t.
You are Destroyer of Worlds.
I can’t reach the pedals.
The chain will sing to you.
I loved Daffy.
Do it!