I was going to join the Black Rabbits, this local motorcycle gang:
The moto came with a pink seat and pink handlebars. But it didn't come with a license plate, and we didn't realize that meant we couldn't ever get a license plate for it — ensuring inevitable confusing, awkward, hand-flapping run-ins with the local bribe-happy cops who care about that sort of thing.
So after riding it just a handful of times (including one long, glorious dash through countryside backroads during which I ran out of gas in the middle of a rice farm), we sold it back yesterday to Dong — the guy with the motorcycle shop in our front yard.
I never even named it. The Black Rabbits approve of my municipal obedience.
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