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.