The Long Awaited Saturday

At six o’clock in the morning, Martin was awake.

Most of the time, on a Saturday such as this, mop-headed Martin couldn’t be risen before ten, even if the house was on fire. But that was most of the time—today was the day! He sprang from bed, disoriented but eager, and bumping into his sisters bed (Hey!) to the door he hurried, to the knob he gripped, to the hallway he flew down and to the banister he slid, in a skateboard bebop he had quite perfected. Like a bee he buzzed around the kitchen, throwing food this-way-and-that, slapping jelly on a slice of white bread, gulping milk straight from the carton.

To the laundry room in the basement he raced, scrambling with his skinny jeans he tugged, deodorant he slathered, with his shirt he ripped the collar, in such an urgent ambition he stumbled back up the steps and into his sneakers he pounced, like a wild cat. Today was Saturday, thee Saturday; this day, his life would change.

To the closet he huffed, digging and pulling from out the clutter the backpack that he had hidden a week ago, stuffed with all the life-changing goodies and the magic formulas that would bestow greatness on him. Ah yes. Today. His baseball cap he fastened, tilting it just so (coolness mattered) and with a deep breath, a puffed chest, to the front door he marched. He checked the clock. Oh boy. Heart fluttering, the horn honked from outside. Through the door he went.

Today was the day. His first rode trip. With his best friends. With GIRLS.

It was time to rebel and defy. Hell yeah.

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