When I was a kid, I lived on a [[small street]] in a small town called [[LaGrange]]. Living on a small street in a small town meant that I could ride my bicycle all over the neighborhood without worrying about many cars. [[Page 2]]
LaGrange, Georgia was a quiet, peaceful place where nothing much happened.
None of the houses on Martha Street looked the same, but they were all small. Every family did what they could to make the houses look nice, but none of us had a lot of money to work with.
I loved popping wheelies, jumping onto and off of curbs, and slamming on my brakes to make [[skidmarks]] in the street. [[Page 3]]
I felt these thin black lines were like my signature, simple graffiti that served to mark my territory.
I loved the smell of burned rubber I left behind as I came screeching to a stop, but I didn't understand that I also left behind some of the [[rubber]] of my tires. This ignorance would cause an accident that would change my life forever.
I didn't notice them getting smoother and smoother over time.