Low Glow

This is a piece I wrote as part of creative writing course I recently completed:

The door shut behind him. The closeness of the must reassured him. He reached for the light switch and turned it on. The strip-light blinked, hummed and shone a low glow on to his covered beauties below, taking up most of the space, encircled by the gardening tools and other bric-a-brac which had no place in the house. He limped towards them and whipped the old bed sheet off like a toreador, unveiling the brutes of metal.

Before starting his Saturday morning clean up he liked to check on his special bike that hung on the wall, out of the way of the others. The Colnago with her blush red frame, was his pride and joy. He only used her on clear blue days. But they were rare. He smiled at the memories of other road bike lovers who stared at her in awe. There weren't many like her around anymore. They certainly didn't make them in her style nowadays. He had got himself a real piece of history there. Never to be let go of.