- Madison Fulcher
She simply picked it up out of boredom— its rust-kissed frame, deflated tires, and that chain that made it sound like an orphaned bird calling for its mother, and always made her feel sorry for the whole thing. But, that day she simply couldn't stare at the walls of her room anymore. She felt like she was dancing in a burning room, choking on her own thoughts. So, she put on that monstrosity called a helmet, fiddled with her ancient and rotting garage door, kicked up the elephant colored stand; David Bowie played softly in her ears, and she rode.