Switchblade Bob had the baddest ass bike in town. It was born of his dad’s crazy drunken though mechanically gifted vision. It had a moped engine cranked up beyond belief. The tach duct-taped to the handle bars only went to 9000 RPM and the motor easily buried the needle. The gas tank strapped to the top bar looked like it came off a shrunken copy of the devil’s Harley. It was black. Not a shiny black. It was black hole black. Even the red dots of laser pointers failed to appear on it. Bob rode that thing proud and fast.