The Love of Speed

When Simon Weeks roared into his close on his Harley , everyone heard and saw that shinning brute of a motor bike. It gleamed and seemed to beckon attention , and Simon , tall and proud in his leathers swung his leg deftly over pulling that monster onto its stand. 

It was his pride and joy , he lived for that bike, nothing else mattered, it was his ego in shining chrome. When he was on the road he felt like a king in command of a wonderful faultless stallion that could carry him anywhere and was beyond compare. Other traffic he viewed with contempt and he rode with a reckless madness as if he was some indestructible God.

Small wonder that the accident happened. It was fatal: Simon and his dream were completely obliterated. I thought he got what he deserved , although I would not have wished it upon him, but did his poor grieving mother deserve this?

I would like to have resurrected that young fool so he could see her tears of despair.

Kindred Spirits

Bert clicked on the porch light, stepped out , and quietly closed the door. The rain fell persistently as he looked about and drew on his freshly lighted cigarette. The anxious hunger died slowly and pleasure invaded his lungs.

The door across the road opened and out came Fred for the same purpose. These middle aged men were banished from their homes by wives and families. Bert walked over the road and joined his fellow smoker . There they stood looking at the rain : kindred spirits.