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February 12, 2008
Itís not up to my mother whether I wear shorts on a motorcycle or not. After all, Iím 19 and I donít need her telling me about ďsafetyĒ. Iím wearing a helmet, am I not?

Ryan and I take off, me and my bare legs and my helmeted head pressed against him on his Harley. We get to where weíre going with no event. Until I get off the bike.

My bare calf sticks to the searing chrome muffler. The melted, blackened skin bubbles and blisters, and the wound that is eventually revealed beneath looks like pizza without the cheese.