Brrrrrrrrrrrooom.
Brrrrrrrrrrrooom.
Brrrraaam, Brrrraaam.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop
brrrrrrrrrrrooom
brrrrrrrrrrrooom
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop
Brrrraaam, Brrrraaam, Brrrraaam
Each forceful twist of the motor-bike’s black rubberised throttle demonstrated the boy-teen’s power over his machine, his transient youthful rebellion blatant in each twist – unashamedly parading his mascot manhood.
The sleek 70c.c. yellow and black two-stroke machine emitted wrenched explosions as the tiny engine screeched inner-city life, rearing and bucking as it reached to the moon and wheelied along the saffron lit Kuala Lumpur city street.
The machine’s suspended front wheel momentarily ceased its spin, remaining stationary for some seconds as the bike’s rider shifted his weight along the black plastic seat, forcing the fore-end of his machine into the air - the power wheel at the rear taking the full brunt of this rider’s bravado.
Unable to sustain this delicate state of equilibrium the rider eased forward allowing the bike’s front wheel to resume contact with the tarmac. The rider-machine cyborg entity, having achieved full traction, sped for all it was worth to a rapturous, bursting, ecstatic cheer from a young crowd of rapt on-lookers along the darkened city street, mottled as it was with pools of yellow lamp light.
Other riders, equally as young, equally as daring, plunged to and from the darkness into the glow of Asian city street lamps. The tropical night flashed red, blue, yellow, green and black as machine followed machine - dynamic explosions of mechanised human activity - cartoon figures against a Manga backdrop – a bizarre scene from cyberpunk Manga Anime.
Adrenalin high teen-girls jumped up and down screaming with uncontrolled delight, clapping thin, soft youthful hands as boy-racer after boy-racer sped around Merdeka Square, the cooling night air and masking darkness adding to the shivering thrill. The acrid stench of two-stroke engines filled air and lungs with potent fumes so oil-thick as to choke the unwary.
Brrraaap, brrraaap - The boys revved their punished engines louder and louder, deafening the nearby audience, evidently glorying in the explosive noises emanating from their strained engines.
Brrraaap, brrraaap, harsher and harsher the boys forced screeching metallic cacophonies from their rasping machines, maniacally shouting into the black Kuala Lumpur night, screaming defiance to the world at large.
Not ten, not twenty, nor even hundred, but five hundred riders emerged for this maddening motor cycle melee. A pandemonium of din-making two-stroke motor-cycles emerged; these effluent vehicles favoured for their ability to scream the rider’s youthful angst, boasting an (ephemeral) revolution to the controlling, grey, Malaysian populace.
A drop, two drops, three drops then the full deluge of Malaysian night rain began hitting the city streets. Riders scrambled for shelter, some sped off into the night not to be seen again at this meet, others, perhaps slower than their counterparts, stood and soon dripped with the warm rain as it permeated their hair, their clothes and their bravado.
The rain washed out the (mat rempit) motor-cycle gathering, clearing and cleansing the streets ready for the Monday commuter morning.
1 comment:
A rebel without a cause indeed! I will admit to being a bit of a rebel myself - on a Yamaha 100 when I was in my 20's! Quit laughing - it really was a motorcycle!
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