Bart knew he had to get away. He’d made a big mistake marrying Edith two years ago. She’d turned out to be not only endlessly crabby but a major slug. As far as he could tell she lived on bologna and American cheese sandwiches—his dinner three times a week.
He took off on his ten speed, hoping to burn up some of his frustration and anger while also clearing his head. The bike trial led through the woods and down a hill toward a field dotted with cows. He’d never been this far, and the trail was beginning to fade into a grassy meadow full of spring dandelions.
Suddenly his front tire hit a rock the size of a softball, throwing Bart over the handlebars onto his back. He lay there staring up at the sky, trying to catch his breath.