What happens to you when you read this passage from Girl in a Foxhole by Donna McGinty?
I waited for Peter and Beth at the curb, straddling my 1940 Champion bike, trying to remember when I'd added the metal bell and front wire basket and side mirrors and streamers off the handlebars. It had come with a headlight and a back-wheel rack. Gone were the stupid saddlebags I got my first Christmas in Texas back when Champion was my turquoise horse. I blushed to remember how I'd raced up and down the street, snorting and rearing up on the back wheel, shouting "whoa" and skidding to a halt.
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