Stand Still
JAVI
The night air is cool, the breeze brisk. The silence of the street is torn into two as I start up the Ducati, hopping on its black back, lifting my feet to hug the motorcycle close to my body before it moves.
The machine rumbles to life beneath me and I take off. My thoughts take off with it, and as I cruise down the San Francisco street towards the horizon, the woman I just left behind stays with me, the heat of her body still lingering on me.
I can almost taste her.
It wasn’t a time too long ago when she would have wrapped that body around mine, gripping me close as I gripped the clutch on my bike, pushing the two wheels to the limits of the city. Staten Island. The Brooklyn Bridge. Beyond.
When we were two teenagers too crazy about each other to give a f**k.
Fift
