Dear Wannabe Thug,
You oughta stop listening to your friends now. They were egging you on to race me after I almost clipped your ass this evening. See, that's what happens when you ride out in front of someone thinking, "oh, she'll stop." No. No, they won't. Seeing that I didn't care, they were yelling, "race! race! race!" so you struggled on your too-tiny bicycle that looked like you outgrew it five years ago.
Here's what's sad. You were winded, huffin' & puffin', and still couldn't keep up. I was in a medium gear, riding uphill (not my favorite), my heart and respiration rate were normal, I was wearing three-inch heels, AND I have about fifteen years on you.
Go home to your mama!