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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Comedy · #1737781
comedy/fiction based on a true story. Ahh the days of our childhood. "Remember when?"

One of the chief charactors of my childhood was a man nick named Snotty Bowman. Snotty was a man about twenty years old. However he had the mental capacity of a twelve year old. Which allowed him to fit right in with us kids. The time line was set in the early nineteen fifties.

Snotty had just seen a movie called the rebel,featuring James Dean. It must have really impressed him,because Soon Snotty was acting just like James Dean. He would walk like him,talk like him,and dress like him. Boy Snotty sure thought he was cool. I never knew Snotty's real name. Everybody just called him Snotty. Probably earned from the fact, that he always had a little drip on the tip of his nose.

We didn't have a community center back then. But we could take a vacant lot and make an instant baseball diamond or foot ball field.

Fall Street was our main gathering place. The whole world existed for me on Fall street. Fall street consisted of three blocks. That was the entire span of Fall street. It started at Peach Tree went down hill at a breakneck angle. Pulling the skin back on your face from the G forces applied to it. Some of the girls rode thier bikes down this section just to straighten their hair.

By the time you reached Stanley Avenue which was the end of the first block. Your eyes were so teared up you couldn't see. From there it continued on at a gentle down hill grade. You know the kind that puts you to sleep. There It ended at hart avenue where most of us chickens would pull off. We would slide our bikes on the gravel trying to impress the girls

The next block we called the" CLIFF ". If your bike was doing over ten miles an hour. You would be air borne as you crossed Hart. The last block of Fall Street headed down at a tremendous tire screeching, heart in your throat ,high pierced screaming type of angle.

At the bottom of this block ended in a tee intersection. Across the tee was the largest brier patch in the world. It went on forever. I heard of people who entered were never heard from again.

The neighborhood kids would gather to watch each other race down Fall Street,yelling cat calls,and crys of chicken as we turned off on Hart.

Still it was a great ride.

The older boys with better bikes would sometimes attempt Fall Street all the way to the bottom. Some could not make the turn and would make small entrances into the brier patch. They would come out with scratches,and bruises bragging about how they beat the devil at his own game.

As they pushed thier bikes to the top of the hill. They were greeted with cheers and true hero worship.

One day in the middle of our rides. A hush fell over the crowd. I glanced around to see what was going on. As near as I can describe it, it had to be a heavenly apparition poised at the top of Fall Street.

In the middle of the summer there stood Snotty wearing engineer boots,with large horse shoe taps on his heels. Black of course. Blue jeans,black leather motorcycle jacket. Big chrome sunglasses,and black leather golfers cap. I didn't know whether to scream or fall down on my knees in worship.

Snotty was sitting on an old Harley Davidson motorcycle. He had salvaged from the junk yard. Snotty had got it running,But I knew for a fact it had no brakes. Snotty would rev up his engine and the whole crowd would go crazy,daring him to go.

I was completely stunned. If I had not known Snotty I would have thought we had a visit from some notorious biker gang The crowd started cheering and daring Snotty to go. I watched Snotty ease up to the edge. Placed his feet straight out in front of him to hold his bike in place. Snotty never looked up he was surveying the road like it was a down hill ski slope. Snotty adjusted his hat,pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. He pushed forward,and gunned the engine.

His horse shoe taps slipped on the pavement, and Snotty was off. I could hear his engine winding out as Snotty picked up speed. He passed Stanley Avenue as a complete blur. My eyes followed him down toward Hart Avenue. At that time. Snotty must have realized he had no brakes. His feet came down hard against the pavement. From behind the stream of fire and sparks from those taps , looked to me like two jet engines had kicked in one on each side of his bike.

I started running toward Hart Avenue. I arrived just in time to hear a pitiful scream,well maybe it sounded more like a high pitched squeel, as Snotty disappeared over the cliff.

It was astounding. I couldn't believe my eyes. For a moment I just stood there. I didn't know what to do. We all started running to the bottom of Fall Street.

Upon arriving we all stood up on the curb,pointing to the large path that went on forever through the brier patch. He'll never survive that I heard someone say.

Suddenly I heard a small moan just below me. I could see Snotty laying on his back,legs sticking straight up. His boots were smoking vehemently. He must have been thrown when he went over the curb.

Good lord we all said at once as we rushed to check on Snotty. Upon arriving we all picked Snotty up on our shoulders,and carried him to the pavement. Then we proceeded up Fall Street singing Snotty Bowman praises. To the tune of Daniel Boone was a man.
Eddie John ID # 1737781 Count 972
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