Chapter 7

• Author: DeeZy (64.89.214.---)
• Verified User: davidzackus
• Date Posted: 11-29-06 23:32

Digging in with a torn fingernail, DeeZy picks at a loose chip of paint near the top of his gas tank. He was slightly bored, and was pulled over to the side of the road, just to contemplate his future.
He thought about how not all apples were red, and not all black people were black, and red-haired people almost have orange hair. Dave’s future was just as undefined.
Whipping about in a small fury of a whirlwind, the tree branches overhead leaned over and slid their tender fingers across Dave’s face. He was comfortable, but also content. Reaching upward, David stretches his limbs high into the sky. He and the tree dance the dance of Autumn. Blending his attitude with enthusiasm, Dave raps a five-toed appendage around his left pedal and spins it over. Pop, pop, pop, and off he rides.
It was hard to hide his overwhelming pleasure. The grin on his face spoke volumes. Eyebrows were tall at that moment. Peeling the eyes open more than the regular glancing peer.
He fidgetted on his moped. Licking his finger, he touched his ear, and swore he wouldn’t drive too crazy.
The insect bite on his arm was itchin’ so he scrathed it, and it bled. His index finger escorted his thumb through a frolic of itching ecstasy. Carrying a can of lacquer by chance, DeeZy was able to spray a clear-coat over the bump, and aleviate the itch, and bleeding. Always, some remedy appears. It looked nice and moist too, which always pleased him. Zebra stripes, all around!
“Bowling tonight,” Dave remembered, as he sought the answer of why he even joined a league, whilst his bowling expertise was not worth mentioning. He loitered on the speculation only momentarily, as he was also glad that he had joined the Hi Bowlers.
“I must strap on my shoes as to not neglect them.” He was in no hurry yet, as he felt he had an eternity to ride. Looking up. Looking back, looking down at the pavement, as he concentrated on that one area of the pebble-stripes. He now knew why he was pink, but it hardly mattered.
With a twinkle in his gleaming eye, DeeZy pedded onward. Absolute caution was used at all times while he was riding. Dave was aware of all peripherals. There was an aroma about, and Dave was considering finding the source of it.
With a twist of the wrist, “Ca-choonk,” went his moped, shifting into second. Likewise DeeZy’s mind shifted into second, and he totally spaced out on the sound of his chain. He could hear it whirring, and just thought long and hard upon how things all work together so nicely. Brown glitter hinted its presence amongst the rear sprocket. It voiced an intelligeble tongue, but was misunderstood. Dave thought it said, “Hoolooora.”
But, in fact, it was really just saying, “Hulewa.” Close, but a totally different meaning.
He pulled into a pull-off by an old huge abandoned house along the sandrock cliffs, on Spring Creek. It used to be a sandstone block quarry in the late 1800’s. Since he only goldiloxed the place once, he thought it to be improper to do it there again. This is where he decided to goldilox the old cabin up the hill from there.
Upon entering the slanting cabin, Dave noticed it wasn’t even really too perverted. Deez doesn’t get off on perversion. If anyone had perverted that cabin, he’da been pissed.
No, the cabin wasn’t too bad off, and it even had a huge awesome woodstove with fully intact mica windows in it. Tempting Dave to steal it. Bring me to your house, and use me, it spoke in a low an faint voice.
Well Dave flead outa there like a scatted cat. BIRDS!
Birds are very spooky to Dave, and when he saw that as anything else this cool, that he may never be trully “at home” in a place such as this. How could he ever spend the night there, slowly dismantling that cool enameled embellished eminescent hunk of antiquity, by candle light. Let alone the week of nights transporting it homewardal on his mopedic form of accomplishing the devious task.
He decided it was in everyones best interest to just snap a memory of it and move on, thinking “what butholes let this cool thing slide into history.”
Pulling his pride and joy outa the sticks, Dave puts the bike to the path. Downhill action, to the road, and not even the hint of a pedalling, he rips his moped into harnessed obedience.
“Thrive!” he yells, “Thrive, my beauty, and onward into the day, my sweet pedestrian mover.” He then shared a special vitamin with his moped, and they both watched a kaliedoscope sunrise right before bowling time.



Then it was time to really bare down and harness his being to a matter of form and fluincey. No more neglegient gawks toward the outer atmosphere. This was for real.
Okay time to park and head in, so chapter seven ends with a little bit of real anxiety. Questions arouse, and accusitions may be made, but really everything’s cool, and it all worked out.

The End