Indeed, we frequent the hilly terrain about these uncivilized woods. Truly, after my catastrophic fall from my rebellious bike, our mother has forbid such escapades. Mostly the paths we follow now are plain asphalt along the Sammammish River, winding along into the wails of babies in a gigantic playground, although my dad would like otherwise. Perhaps a good Father's Day present for him would be to allow him to go on a hike or at least bike on the gravelly and bear-ridden (kidding--I should hope-- about the latter) paths he prefers. Not to mention we've bought him some books at the library. They have a little nook tucked into the corner showcasing a number of somewhat tattered, quite interesting, used books. We're hiding the books we got for him in the right side of my dim, grim, dusty, and musty closet. And how have we had the time to conceal our purchases at the library, one might wonder? We walk down to the library with our teacher to do math at the library's Study Zone, and our teacher catches the bus. The library is a large place, with two formidable black crows guarding, somewhat more benignly than they appear, the entrance to the library. There is a concrete bench that embraces the left wall of the library, directly outside the doors and extending along until it is about half a foot away from the window beside the door, of dusty gray; a sign upon the wall bearing the somewhat scratched out, much scorned sign "No Skateboarding Allowed" (I say 'somewhat' because it was only the "No" some person of renegade demureness scratched out). Another sad sign doomed to ignorance rests upon the door. The door has polished metal handles, and has a frame which allows for two large windows. There are two doors, identically the same. Inside the library is an endless and winding path of advertisements and bulletins (a perfect image of what I imagine whenever I'm listening to a particularly boring piece of music), which is adorned with two statues roughly hewn of wood, seeming out of place in the spacious and well-lit library in their darkness and coarseness. The library itself is very neatly filed and modern in appearances. Oh, and back to the bikes--I shall inherit--I say "inherit" because it sounds grander than a word like "passed down"--Adrianna's greatest heirloom, an imperious two-wheeled vehicle, her bicycle, of an imperial purple color, bedecked in sequins of the imagination, with wheels that have gone over the excrement of an emperor's dog.
If you were wondering, I know that my description of this mud-plagued bike sounds ridiculous, but so what? Ridicule was what this country was built upon--us thinking that the British taxing us without representation and ruling us was ridiculous. That sounds ridiculous, but who knows? Well, not only ridiculous, but unfair, and a lot of other words we'll no doubt have to learn in class, or one could find in the Declaration of Independence. That is, if we hadn't already (thankfully) moved on to the Civil War.