They called them butterflies. Which was silly. Bloated, ice cold anacondas. Totally more appropriate. That's what his tummy felt like, inside. So silly, yo. It's No Thing. Just Do It. All that, right?!
Friday had come, and darkness fell, leaving him oddly cast in the yellow street light glow as he studied his bike. Thoughts tangented on whether or not to finish removing the ragged remnants of the fairings on the second hand bike, and he shook his head to take his focus off of all the little nuts and bolts that held the plastic pieces on. A full backpack was ungraciously tied onto the fuel tank in the front, since there would be a passenger.
A passenger, yo.
Honestly? It was the eleventh hour. Plenty of time to just Go To Dinner. Or a movie. Or Putt Putt. Or Bowling. Any of those conventional First Date Things. But they'd done dinner. And he wasn't conventional. And her?
Mental gears ground, and he studied his helmet. And the propeller hat. Because that was The Deal. Except it was way too small to fit over the helmet. Even with duct tape.
When Avis appeared, he juggled the helmet and hat, and swept an arm out in a bow.
"Milady! Your chariot awaits!"
This time? He got the accent. Because practice?
2 suxx this time wheeeee!