I basically rode the hell out of my BMX bike until everyone had to start calling me Chrome Wheel. Super original, right? I mean, who wouldn’t want to be named after a shiny bike part like some sort of street legend? But forget BMX bikes and lame nicknames—this story isn’t about that. This story is about Uncle Peyton. Mom’s side of the family. The guy who made blasting Metallica sound like an Olympic sport.
He had this Dodge Charger—black, monstrous, and built to scream. And scream it did. You got inside, and the speakers didn’t just play music; they annihilated your sense of spatial awareness. If sound had a body, it would have been the size of a rhinoceros and its favorite hobby was sitting on my chest.
I figured, being the brave i***t I am, that maybe I could handle a ride with Peyton.
