So I’m just minding my own business here, grilling my brother about driver’s training (I ask “You hit anybody today?” to which he invariably replies in a bored voice, “Nope”) when I hear THE NOISE. The noise. The noise that means I’m about to burst a blood vessel from sheer irritation. It is the sound of a motorcycle, but it’s not actually a motorcycle. Oh, no. No, it is some kind of contraption attached to the handlebars of a regular bike. My 19-year-old neighbor somehow built it and somehow felt that everybody in the neighborhood would appreciate the sultry tones of a motorcycle several times throughout the day. So, no, he’s not actually riding a motorcycle up and down the street forty times in a single hour, but it sure as shit sounds like it. The fact that this obnoxious sound is not actually a motorcycle, but is a bike pretending to be a motorcycle, somehow makes the whole thing even more unforgivable in my twisted mind.