This was Southern California in the late 1970s. I was 13, and I’d persuaded my parents to let me ride to school. This was done purely in the interest of survival.
The older kids on my bus were a bullying, drug-addled lot who tormented the weak. By which I mean me. One day a ninth-grader wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt—Jessie, pronounced “Jess-eye,” as in Jess I do have discrete quantities of marijuana available for purchase—ripped my sneaker off and chucked it out the window.
They next day it was my hat. Eventually, I figured, he’d toss me out whole.
That’s part of a cool little story that I randomly came across today and liked quite a bit.
I liked the story because not only was the writing done well imo but the story itself made a good point… well I don’t want to ruin it, you can read the whole thing over at Bicycling Magazine:
What did you think of the story, did you like it Y/N? The last half kind of made me nostalgic for all the adventures I used to get into as a kid roaming around on my bike.