The spokes were still chromed; Ghosts of red high-top sneakers reflected back at me. 

I grabbed the handle bars, dust poofing into small clouds. I rotated my palms around the give of the rubber, then wiped down on the denim jacket. 

The modern tires were a foreign touch. The aroma of new rubber haunted me as I did that regulatory pinch to check the pressure. 

I could only be so bold, get so dirty while wearing his clothes. My personality was never so carefree as his was that last day of 1999. I missed him so. 

***

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