I always know it's summer when motorcyclists begin to tear down La Salle in the middle of the night. Initially I wondered, why my street? It may be that the lights are timed just so, so that the motorcycle riding loonies can accelerate just enough to make all the lights from one end to the other. And while, as a pre-pre-teen, I had many Grease II (*cringe*)-inspired fantasies of riding on the back of some leather-clad stud's bike, hair whipping out behind me, I now have detailed an entirely different kind of motorcycle-themed fantasy.
In my new daydream (or awake-night-dream, thanks to the flatulating growls of bikes all hours past my window,) someone like Bond's Q has designed a special weapon just for me. At the very moment a sensor detects a single bike or troupe of motorcycles are approaching my block, a microscopically thin trip wire shoots out of the weapon and fastens itself somewhere on the Moody Bible Reformatories across the street. The cycles sputter ever closer then ... phwwTT! They hit the wire, hurtling wheel over wheel up, up, up into the air. A massive portal opens up at the intersection of Oak and La Salle the bikes fall into a below-street-level colossal pit of assorted animal dung,* like that scene in Back to the Future, where Marty McFly's super smooth skateboard moves draw Biff and his gang to slam into a manure pile with their car.
Sigh. I get happy just picturing it.
* I couldn't decide whether to use the word 'dung' or 'offal.' Offal is so much more elegant.
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