Monday, February 25, 2013

Shell Station

It is late. The sad, empty hours past two. Once again I am ranging the night streets alone. Just me and my motorcycle. The only loyal thing in my life.

There is a lighted oasis. The all night gas station/convenience store. I swing the bike in.

Alone is a heavy weight at night, in Summer, when everyone else has something. Alone is grabbing a soda and the clerk can't even think in your language.

Sitting outside on the painted curb, the bike is creaking and ticking as the metal cools down. Diesels roll by on the interstate, engines low and the tires singing high. Every few minutes the roar of another two wheeled raven does the doppler on my ears.

A miguided beetle bangs his head against the storefront. Fluorescent lights hum, the yellow of the Shell beaming in the night.

Maybe I should have done it her way. Maybe was a long time ago. I made it this way through stubbornness.

Crush the can, you can't recycle hope. Wipe the dew from the saddle, turn the switch and try to ride the loneliness away.
— photo from cmadir's photostream .

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