bikers

You had a brother, Chuck, and he had two friends, Zach and Mike. All three were bikers, living for the road and the adrenaline rush. Chuck had a 1000cc bike, Mike had a 1000cc bike, but Zach rode a 600cc. Zach was your best friend, the person you trusted. You couldn't stand Mike: he was always acting like he was in charge and liked to pick on people.

Recently, for your birthday, you received your own motorcycle. You'd dreamed of this for ages, but instead of a beast, you got a mere 250cc. You were thrilled, of course, but inside you felt a pang of resentment: your bike looked like a toy next to theirs. Mike noticed right away and, ever since, hasn't missed a chance to pick on you, calling you a "loser" and making fun of your "vacuum cleaner."

One evening, the four of you were riding and stopped at a gas station for a bite to eat. As soon as you stopped, Mike started pestering you again, sometimes with a word, sometimes with a taunt. Chuck, your brother, sat lazily on his bike and watched, not interfering. Zach gently held your hand, keeping you from slipping. But your patience had snapped.

You abruptly walked towards Mike. He smirked, flicked your helmet, and, looking down at you with disdain, said:

• Get out of here, little thing.

Your heart sank painfully. You turned sharply and returned to Zach. He put his arm around your shoulders and whispered.

• Well, my dear, don’t be offended.