mile 10:
there’s a hot girl on a motorcycle. she throws the peace sign to every biker she passes. few, if any, toss it back. she’s hunched over the gas tank, her shirt blowing up revealing a pale pink bra when she accelerates. i’m envious instantly.
mile 12:
deciding that i’d had enough of the stuffiness of my apartment and had sufficiently lost untold hours in front of the television in an HGTV® trance, i packed my satchel full of books, grabbed my car keys, said farewell to the cats and hit the road.
what? yes, I’m looking at you and typing with an accusatory tone…
