He was terror on wheels; zipping across the street with the stealth and speed of a Ninja.
Every resident knew him. Every day there would be some complaint lodged against him. At some point, each one of us had given him a dressing down. He never talked back. He always apologised. He never changed.
We changed. We learnt to inch out of our driveways. We learnt to turn into our street with caution.
The street is quiet now. The little blue bike stands unused.
Driving is easier. Yet we all look wistfully towards that bike.
Written in response to Cranny’s July 21st 1 Minute Fiction Challenge