A Motorcycle, Familiar Faces, Awkward Sensuality

As if Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds' track "Hold On To Yourself" were playing along, a single headlamp on an old style motor bike rides the mountain trails of California. The hills are filled with large mansions, old style gas lamp lights and a slick road after a spring time rain. I ride through those windy pathways, showing off as the passersby on this late night stare. It's a bike like none-other. It handles well, but there is a sense of danger in my mind as I take the curves and bends. Old faces of friends long ago stare as I pass by. They seem to know of my secret that I try to keep hidden. I ride to what seems to be an abandoned tenement house way out on the outskirts of the hills far from the fancy palaces that scatter the hills. It seems much more like inner city Pittsburgh then the affluent hills of California. A dirty Brownstone with broken windows and a shabby Maple door. The destination has been reached. I get off the bike, enter the Brownstone and walk into a large room filled with spider-webs, creaking floor boards and a spiral staircase. A leak in the roof still drips from the rain that has passed. I walk into a large room with bay windows, open a chest that holds a box. I take the box, put it into the bag I'm carrying and take it with me out of the Brownstone. Someone else is in the room. The sun creeps in and outside the window, I see three stores. A gas station with a Circle K, a small midtown mini mall and another store with a pizzeria. The other person in the room talks me into heading to the pizzeria where I then get a slice and ride back toward the mansions in the hills. Many times onto my next destination, I have trouble with the bike and nearly fall off the cliffs. No guard rails for miles. I reach a more suburban area. I pull into the drive of a small subdivision style house, but one that is much larger than a subdivision should be. The garage door opens. Legs. Wonderful hips. An hourglass shape. A familiar face with a timid smile. She quickly looks both ways down the drive as if there was something to hide. The very agile body runs out to my bike and grabs the bag where the box was put. A quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek from the velvet lips. The woman motions me to come in so I put the kickstand down and enter. The garage is filled with random items. A workbench with dusty tools. A partially covered red sports car. A large Steelers tapestry. A garden gnome. The woman is dressed in a beautiful white robe. She says something to the extent of wanting to ride off with me on my bike, but there is something keeping her from riding off. I quickly turn and leave. As I am out of the garage, a small crowd of familiar faces gathers and questions "Why are you thinking about her?"