I'm on the motorbike and I'm motoring.
I'm burning up tarmac.
It's morning and I'm late. I'm late for a meeting and I can't be late.
Every second counts. I'm slaloming cars. Clipping wing mirrors. Jumping amber lights.
All you can see is my tail light disappearing.
I'm riding well. Alert, quick and smooth. I might make it.
I might make it if I don't run out of petrol.
I might make it if it doesn't sputter and die like it just has. If it doesn't kick back into life like it doesn't. If it doesn't leave me stranded on the side of the road like it does.
I'm on the motorbike and I'm not going anywhere.
You're a rich man. In life experience, intellect, and the pocketbook. You've travel the world. You speak multiple languages. You live in posh London. How do you run out of petrol?!?!?!
ReplyDeleteI was taking it to the edge.
ReplyDeleteI was pushing the envelope.
I was testing the limits of machine and man.
I was an idiot.