125, 130. Loosen the grip that’s bad. Don’t fight the bike, let it breathe, don’t freak. Back wheel is starting to swim a bit. Go with it. Go with it. Don’t grip too hard, that causes the rear tire to swim. High speed wobble. Oh shit. Fuck. I’m going down. Time to die. Roll off the throttle. Don’t go down. Tire swimming, swimming, let it go, let it go. Red and blue lights fading back. Lights fading back, no sound, sirens fading. Helicopter lighting up freeway ahead, moving, shifting. Daytime at night. Lay off the throttle. Easy now. Easy.
Lurch forward, fucking 5th gear, no swimming. Off-ramp at Riverside Avenue, 80, 75, take it! Sliding, back, around the corner into the oncoming traffic going north. Through a semi and a car, horns blaring, blinded, I’m still rolling. Throttle, gun it hard. 100, 110, south from Rialto, approaching Riverside, already? Roll off the throttle. Roll off. 80, 70, 60, cruise now. You’re free. You made it. Club 215 strip bar on the left. Too obvious. Whip around the back of Jack in the Box off of La Cadena. Lights to the north. Helicopter making night into day. Red and blue strobes. Dragon fly dancers on the pole. Red and white and blue.
Push my Harley into the bushes. Walk in slowly. Calmly. Breathe.
“Jumbo Jack, fries, and a Coke, please.” I’m sweating.
“You want the combo, sir?” The teenager in the paper-hat looks at me suspiciously. I must look nervous. Calm the fuck down. Stop sweating. Think now.
“Combo? Yes please.”
He eyes me again and looks out the window.
“It’s the same thing you ordered, you just save fifty cents. You okay, dude?”
“Oh yeah, yeah thanks. I almost got in an accident, fucking truck almost hit me.” I smile.
He buys my bullshit.
“Wow, you’re lucky night!”
“You said it, bro.” I take my soda cup and head over to the drinking fountain.
I eat my cheeseburger and wonder if there are eyes on me. I wonder, as I chew, if I am a cruel man. Am I cruel? Have I become cruel or was I always cruel? I guess I have become cruel. I do not think I was always cruel, for I remember, as a child, seeing children doing cruel things, and it bothered me. But, I think, as I stuff five french-fries into my mouth, truly, we are all the cruel for we are human. Maybe it just takes time to really come out. Maybe those cruel children I remember, the cruel kids I remember, the bullies and the shitheads, became better people, while I became cruel and crueler. I have time to muse. Masturbate some. Silently Pontificate to calm myself. I think things over and play little games in my head. It makes me calmer.
In the grand scheme, I think, every second and time that we live as humans, we are cruel. We are always surrounded by suffering that questions our humanity, but we, in large and part, do nothing. I finish my burger and slurp the last of my Coke from the cup.
And I feel good for thinking these thoughts. For a moment, I feel like a better person because, even though I really have done very little to ease anyone’s suffering, I am at least thinking about it. The strange things that fly through the mind when you’ve narrowly slipped by death. Eating a cheeseburger and philosophizing about utter and extreme bullshit. It’s a way to occupy and slow the brain down. Lying to your own brain and playing games like Socratic chess on your morals and thoughts, your own corrupt personhood.
Chopped bobbers. Lots of noise and laughter. ZZ Top is blasting. Live. Not a cover. ZZ Top. Biker sluts and wannabe biker sluts. Real bikers, weekend warriors. Hardcore bikers. Enthusiasts. Bike rallies are like that. A mixture of thug and Joe weekend rider.
“Which guy?” I ask. I look around.
“That piece of shit right there, black and white shirt.”
“Huh, why?”
“You’re asking questions now?”
“Nah, just wondering.”
“Don’t fucking wonder, just go cave his fucking face in, prospect.”
My head starts swimming hard. My adrenaline is pumping.
Lurch forward, fucking 5th gear, no swimming. Off-ramp at Riverside Avenue, 80, 75, take it! Sliding, back, around the corner into the oncoming traffic going north. Through a semi and a car, horns blaring, blinded, I’m still rolling. Throttle, gun it hard. 100, 110, south from Rialto, approaching Riverside, already? Roll off the throttle. Roll off. 80, 70, 60, cruise now. You’re free. You made it. Club 215 strip bar on the left. Too obvious. Whip around the back of Jack in the Box off of La Cadena. Lights to the north. Helicopter making night into day. Red and blue strobes. Dragon fly dancers on the pole. Red and white and blue.
Push my Harley into the bushes. Walk in slowly. Calmly. Breathe.
“Jumbo Jack, fries, and a Coke, please.” I’m sweating.
“You want the combo, sir?” The teenager in the paper-hat looks at me suspiciously. I must look nervous. Calm the fuck down. Stop sweating. Think now.
“Combo? Yes please.”
He eyes me again and looks out the window.
“It’s the same thing you ordered, you just save fifty cents. You okay, dude?”
“Oh yeah, yeah thanks. I almost got in an accident, fucking truck almost hit me.” I smile.
He buys my bullshit.
“Wow, you’re lucky night!”
“You said it, bro.” I take my soda cup and head over to the drinking fountain.
I eat my cheeseburger and wonder if there are eyes on me. I wonder, as I chew, if I am a cruel man. Am I cruel? Have I become cruel or was I always cruel? I guess I have become cruel. I do not think I was always cruel, for I remember, as a child, seeing children doing cruel things, and it bothered me. But, I think, as I stuff five french-fries into my mouth, truly, we are all the cruel for we are human. Maybe it just takes time to really come out. Maybe those cruel children I remember, the cruel kids I remember, the bullies and the shitheads, became better people, while I became cruel and crueler. I have time to muse. Masturbate some. Silently Pontificate to calm myself. I think things over and play little games in my head. It makes me calmer.
In the grand scheme, I think, every second and time that we live as humans, we are cruel. We are always surrounded by suffering that questions our humanity, but we, in large and part, do nothing. I finish my burger and slurp the last of my Coke from the cup.
And I feel good for thinking these thoughts. For a moment, I feel like a better person because, even though I really have done very little to ease anyone’s suffering, I am at least thinking about it. The strange things that fly through the mind when you’ve narrowly slipped by death. Eating a cheeseburger and philosophizing about utter and extreme bullshit. It’s a way to occupy and slow the brain down. Lying to your own brain and playing games like Socratic chess on your morals and thoughts, your own corrupt personhood.
Chopped bobbers. Lots of noise and laughter. ZZ Top is blasting. Live. Not a cover. ZZ Top. Biker sluts and wannabe biker sluts. Real bikers, weekend warriors. Hardcore bikers. Enthusiasts. Bike rallies are like that. A mixture of thug and Joe weekend rider.
“Which guy?” I ask. I look around.
“That piece of shit right there, black and white shirt.”
“Huh, why?”
“You’re asking questions now?”
“Nah, just wondering.”
“Don’t fucking wonder, just go cave his fucking face in, prospect.”
My head starts swimming hard. My adrenaline is pumping.
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