2
15.
Creeping moment of subterfuge, and my mind a failing image, or, unloved. Escaped muses, all those people crowded on the building, all, I presume, waiting for some event, but not I, or perhaps I searched for disappoint instead of mere surprise. Someone had done a number on that guest list. I’m sure the band played for hours with Wayne, amongst others, glad to offer up a scene. And it was that quiet now on my street and I had to wait till Monday to find the out come, body off the roof or band signed to a big contract; stumbling through work, still days of hangover, and then that damn bike. “Buy a bike” some girl had said: ”Yea, get a bike” the other girl chirped in, so I had, and then I never saw them again, or close enough, but when I got home, any night, there it was so I had to make myself ride it, not that I was afraid actually, actually I loved riding it, listening to it, and leaning into corners, but I almost felt like they and others were waiting for me o get it, leather jacket and all. Failure. And I was pretty careful, but Monday night was warm enough so out it came. Racing through danger, left turns across traffic and trucks and crazy taxis. I made it again, so just a beer , thank you, what a wimp, and Wayne was down at the far end of the bar with some cohort and wine glass full of something else, and some guy in the middle, pretty sure I’d seen him around the neighborhood but not in the bar and then I remembered he was the guy with the Ducati and some girl, model type,would be on the back in shorts and both of them would have those little half helmets, and that was the accident to have.
Wayne was just watching them, he knew who there were; he had someone less dramatic looking with him. I just thought they talked too loud.
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