Rush
The stretch of road looked perfect.
No speed humps. Thin traffic. Cool January air. No helmet.
Past University junction, the throttle opened as if by telepathy.
The Royal Enfield Thunderbird outran its own bark and sped across the dimly lit blurry continuum.
The bike was eager, its enthusiasm intoxicating.
Why wouldn’t I speed? Why wouldn’t I shirk and run from my problems?
I could leave today and not look back. It did not have to be uncomfortable or confrontational.
Why wouldn’t I misbehave?
As the speedo ticked past triple digits, the logic incestuously agreed with itself.
In the distance, I saw some traffic lights.
Would I?
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Untitled
Do share your feedback if you already read this one.Until next time, keep the coffee brewing and the pages turning!
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