My New Bike

Oh yes. The black bike. Fresh black leather covering the chrome spokes. Hand brakes, no more accidentaly kicking the brakes on when he's just trying to stand on the pedals. Life was good. Life was good.

You point it out to your mother and she ushers a sales person over who sells you the bike.

Your mom makes you ride it home.

At first you are excited, but a chill filled the air, and it seemed that the faster you rode the more it stung at your face.

The road split into a 'Y' and you tried desperately to remember which way was home, but you could not. You really wish you paid attention in the car instead of staring absently out the window.

Do you go left or right?