Bike as light as a feather.
Clever metal.
Hair as blonde as the sun.
Beautiful people.
Thoroughbred.
It's a glorious Friday morning in Springtime.
The bike leans against the hall wall.
Tyres skinny and pumped.
Grey with yesterday's ride and a layer of house hold dust.
She lithely limbs down the sand blasted stairs.
Tight leather jacket skimming the top of well cut jeans.
Privately educated with the edge and sense of a girl who's not too protected.
A real blast.

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