Forward

The wreckage of the last couple of years recedes in the rear view mirror as you motor out of town, bike on the rack, gas in the tank. Yes, it has been a rough one, with the criminal case and all. It would have been better if he hadn't attacked someone. Christ! Why did he have to do that? And then there is the question of how to make a living in this digitized world. You are more of an analog kind of guy. And the heart... don't even go there. The days are getting thinner, with less light. They barely feed you enough to keep you alive. But that's all then. This is now and soon. We're talking future here. Now that's scary. If only those ghosts hanging onto the bumper would let go and go get a life somewhere else. You know the only thing they listen to is having balls big enough to forgive. Well, for now, anyway, you guess you'd rather not. They smile at the prospect of that and find the strength to get a tighter grip. They're making their up along the side of the truck. They'll be in with you soon, drinking your beer, grinding up your bones. Faster. Faster. You jam the pedal to the floor hoping to outrun them.