MoyNo matter how much they love you, family only holds you back
This Weeks Free Small Tale
Tim loved the outlaw life. His hog between his legs, the wind rippling his hair. No one to answer to. He twisted the throttle on his vintage hog and pulled into traffic, his muffler barking like shotgun fire, the engine pounding like wild horses’ hooves on the asphalt. If he cut into a driver’s lane, the driver steered clear. If he pulled up beside a cop car, the cops looked away, embarrassed to face a man with more power between his legs than ten of the cars in their fleet.
He twisted the throttle on his vintage hog and pulled into traffic, his muffler barking like shotgun fire, the engine pounding like wild horses’ hooves on the asphalt.
Tim rode. Tim rode to the end of the road, the long highway, to hell and beyond and back, pulling in the driveway and throttling the engine. Vroom. Vroom vroom. VROOOM. Neighbors threw open their windows and glared. Dialed 911 on their cell phones: “Please send the Po Po to save us from the biker threatening our homes.”
The door to his house burst open. A woman poked her head through the door. Tim spat his wad into the grass. Hadn’t the old lady moved out yet?
“It’s dinnertime, Tim,” his mother called. ‘And don’t you leave your tricycle in the driveway. Your father said he’d run over it next time.”