Friday Morning: Writing Prompt Exercise

In 1963, on a hot July day, Eddie was riding his ten speed. It was red, thin, and fast: he had to bend over to grip the handlebars properly, curving his long, thin frame into an aerodynamic arc. No one had a bike like that then, out here in the mountains. As far as Eddie knew, no one wanted one. They teased him about it at school. Even the guys at Dad's garage would laugh a little when he stopped by with it.

Eddie didn't care. It was such a fast bike. Riding it felt like flying. He'd...