= Story Time =

• Author: DeeZy (64.89.214.---)
• Verified User: davidzackus
• Date Posted: 11-20-06 22:23
• Attachment: 1164079400_pages_turn.gif

While riding his moped on a sunsetting evening, DeeZy noticed his left pedal was down a little lower than his right. This bothered him ferociously, and he whinced about twice as hard as he would have if he had just pulled a splinter from under his fingernail.
With eagerness, Dave pulls over and readjusts his footing. With his toes in line, this mopedding individual turns away from his unlitegated disappointment, and lunges into the breeze.
He looks into the distance and catches a spinning leaf in the eye, but barely notices it as he shrugs it off with a blink. The sky is awesome. A deep, but distant hue of blue tops the mountains in the east, as orange and gold dance a whisp across the spectra-dome.
“A simple sunset,” Deez thinks, as he closes his vintage flat-glass left wing window. His moped all shut tight seems to be gliding on air. Hardly a sound is heard. Then whoof, he re-opens it, and throws out an apple core, hardly noticing that a pile of ants remove it almost immediately to the side of the road.
Realizing he has no windows on his moped whatsoever, Dave pulls hard on his throttle to see why he wasn’t hearing so well. This phenomena never really plays itself out, and Dave never really knows what happened. He decides to ride it all out in the woods for a smell of good sappy pine mingled with fir.
Nostrils pleased, he rejoices with thoughts of nudity and water. Then a shudder wiggles down his neck, through his back. Claiming to understand the nature of aerodynamics, DeeZy crouches down, tucking his legs in tight, hurting the groin, but going faster now. A nice downward hill thrusts Dave’s moped into hyperdrive, and the vibrasonics are almost unbearable. Faster and faster, but without the proper drive mechanism to his speedometer, he is unfortunately unaware of his miles per hour. A hundred? No, not even close, prob’ly 33 and a half, but it feels like 37, and if an airplane were flying over in the night it might even feel like 38.
The light in the sky is dim now, and Dave pulls over to watch the last hint of red disappear over the Belt Mountains.
“Pretty,” He mutters. The chipmunk on the left agrees and they both chuckle.
Suprised by the instantanious hunger trudging in, Dave needs to make a break for home. He’s thinkin’ about leftover lasagna. He notices his pedal on the left is lower again. The right being forced slightly up. With uncanny discipline, he bites the bullet, and steams into town, at an average speed, adorned with an incredibly real smile, like an old Coca Cola advertisement; red lips, white teeth and rosy cheeks.



The End