Saturday Morning

Put the headset on adjust the boom mic launch the software in the manuscript write outside of my room lit with artificial lights cold black night sky over empty city now seeking words hard filled with many nouns defining images sharp that I would rather not write motorcycles once owned my first was small and red oil mixed in gasoline would only go thirty-five took a long time in college long ago in winter of bitter cold long walks or frozen rides where ever I would go much faster I would ride on triumph somewhat old a six fifty vertical twin knobby tires wide gas tank of mustard yellow a bag rack of shining chrome straight black tubing with sharp bends a chain that stretched soaked in oil at certain speeds it ran rough setting timing switches hard feeler gauges thin and straight to set gaps just so right timing was set by turning mounting plate under plate of chrome held with steel screws two a shafted triple next came of bright blue and shining chrome with fairing so very wide and tall windshield and a cargo trunk on the rear of bright white and somewhat small a nice seat room for two comfortable for very long rides times did change as always do two wheels then became four and room to carry many more looking out at cloudy sky troubled by what once I did ride