Blurb: All week aron has been threatening a smack down at the tricycle races. We saw the flyer at Pops bar in San Francisco that said July fourth: Tricycle Race 6 pm. There were trikes provided. We were drunk. We were friends. But we didnt care. No friends on race day. "What are you eating for breakfast that day?" Aron would ask. The waittress got out a pen and paper. I mean mugged aron and said Country Breakfast. She wrote it down. As a smart ass remark, Aron ordered the Country. Breakfast. BITCH. and looked me in the eye but the waittress thought he was calling her a b and she got mad and split. We thought this was unfortunate but also funny the way it came out. Anyway in further preparation for the race, the following hours included beer, strategizing, and repeating the phrase country breakfast bitch like it was the only english we knew. It was used to greet other competitors, as a name for our trike race team, as a way to pick up girls, a threat at the finish line, as a greeting to cops, something to write on dusty car windows, something to say too many times for effect, and a way of life. Someone asks a two part question and aron would say country breakfast, give me the one-eye, I'd look at them and say BITCH. Anyway the race contestants were bracketed, i lost out in round three and Aron, high on innapropriate power, won. I fired bottle rockets at him later.

Editors note: B. Bradley is a teacher at an undisclosed San Francisco high school. He was an english major, and Americas future is in his hands. Since reading this, I dont sleep easily any longer.