Jeff peered intently at the rusty hunk of metal in front of him, a look of dismay playing across his features. “Didn’t your ad read ‘Slightly Used’?” he asked. “Now look here, son, there’s only a few spots of rust there. Look over yonder,” said the salesman, steering him by the shoulder to the front of the vehicle. “Both headlights work, the wipers are new, and the antenna hasn’t been broken by the carwash yet!” Jeff gasped in mock excitement, waving his arms like a 12 year old, whose boy band crush glanced in her direction. “Oh goodie!” Storming away from the vehicle and the flustered salesman, Jeff hopped on his bicycle and pedaled off. Maybe he could sling his Prom date on the back of his bicycle. Better yet, maybe a racing bike. The motorcycle dealership was just across the street, so Jeff changed direction, imagining himself rolling up to the red carpet dressed in a tux with girlfriend in tow, riding side saddle with her dress draped over the gleaming new Kawasaki Ninja.