“She’s only got 75 miles on her, barely used,” the salesman said.
Sam lusted over the sleek powerful lines of the black Kawasaki 2000 Vulcan. He didn’t care that his wife would kill him, calling this his midlife crisis.
The salesman smiled at him.
“Care to take her for a spin?”
Sam rode out of the dealership. He didn’t notice the incongruity of his plaid golfing pants and pink collared polo shirt against her dark coolness. He felt only the power of the hungry motor rising up in a heat wave, enveloping him with a purr that spoke to him of speed. Faster, faster, she said to him. Faster and faster he went. Take this exit, the sultry voice told him. Turn here.
Was he in control or was she? He no longer knew nor cared. The road before him curved and dipped as she hugged the road with fierce possession.
Too fast! He tried to slow down, but she went faster. The road rose higher as she took him up a mountainside, the darkening horizon no more than a blur. He slammed frantically against the brakes. Please stop! He pleaded. I’ll do anything! He screamed. Ahead, the road banked sharply as she came to an abrupt halt. Sam flew off, over the handlebars, into a freefalling nothingness. He felt only relief that he had stopped before he crashed into the rocks below.
“She’s only got 150 miles on her, barely used,” the salesman said, his smile wide with anticipation.