V-ROOM V-ROOM

James, who lived down the street, and myself, turned out to be pretty good at mimicking the sound of the shovelhead slap by using a couple of stiff playing cards held by a clothes pin, flapping through the spokes of a '66, Huffy Davison.
It also must be told that we were equally adept at spotting discarded, still smoke-able cigarette butts along the side of the road. Cigarette butts that were screaming at us for one more chance at life. We would play God, Jim and I.










Then one Saturday morning, Mike, Pete's cousin, showed up in our neighborhood with a Mattel V-RRoom Motor on his bike. A small crowd gathered.
I remember feeling humbled. I had only seen these on the Saturday morning toy commercials that came on between the cartoons.
This. This sound. This fake motorcycle sound. It comes from money. Only money can make this sound, Jim said.
And besides, everybody knows you don't start a motorcycle with a key in a switch on the handle bars. You kick start the son-of-a-guns, right Jimmy?