Daily Story
She rode by every day at exactly four thirty p.m. I didn't know what it was about her. I'd never seen her anywhere else, though we lived in a very small town, and it was rare to find people you'd never met before.
But for twelve years she rode by my house on her turquoise bike, ringing the little bell, and smiling at me while her hair whipped in the wind.
There was something magical about that girl. Whenever she rode down our street, the trees got greener, the sun shone a little brighter and the colors just became more vivid.
I looked forward to that time of day, where I could watch the bike girl.
I never found out who she was, though.