Santimoto

Motocicletas, motoconchos, motowhatever.

Sometimes they try and run you over.

Sometimes they pick you up and take you places, and you have to hold on for dear life, onto the exhaust pipes and try with all your earthly power not to burn your hands to the second degree. It's even more fun when you're carrying an absurdly stuffed backpack that impedes your grasp onto said exhaust pipes. And the roads traveled make Worcester streets seem as smooth and relaxing as a tempurpedic mattress.

They're everywhere, and due to their small size and maneuverability they routinely zoom through red lights (just about the only guarantee of a pedestrian's right of way) and during rush hour tend to use sidewalks as additional lanes of traffic (more about that in the near future).

Moral of the story: Beware the moto. Respect the moto. And never, never, never look it in the eye, because it will pounce at you...err...run you over. Maybe.