57 The deep seated bond bicyclists have

They leaped! Thirty craven bicyclists whom Bicycle Boy #10’s promises made bold, backed by Bicycle Girl #6’s white elephant cheerleading routines, turned toward baby Drew. Thirty of an age range 25 to 65, perhaps a bit younger and older beginning and end, obviously of unlike generations but with the deep-seated bond of poor potty training, pounced.
But not quite completely, if to finish is the measure.
Monsignor Quinn, the Patron of the Arts with her brilliant roundtable, the six medicinally mood-stabilized ladies of San Francisco, the Guss household’s migratory Sunday lie-abouts, and so on through the Plip Plop Coffe Shop, even Uncle Joe, although he knew what was coming, even Alain de Tochigi, the Frisco Ninja, were surprised. Only baby Drew and the other baby, whose gleeful spectator eyes matched the intensity of Drew’s remarkable warning eyes, were prescient about the introductory moment of combat.
And Granny Guss’s ad hoc gift, her flyswatter, held true in the grip of little Drew.
“You’re lookin’ good,” Aunt Kar automatically quoted “The Madison” as she held her breath. Drew blocked at once three crash helmets falling like hammers.

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One Response to “57 The deep seated bond bicyclists have”

  1. Peter Smith Says:

    Don’t know why, but every time the “babies” appear I get very tense.

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