Acceleration brought instability, pushing the limit.

I was trying to glance back as often as possible, but with the blood rush, I needed to keep a tighter grip than ever, eyes peeled. It was like every car had become violently loose, every change in the asphalt threatening to rip control, every shift in the position of vehicles calling on deadly precise corrections.

Wally turned around to shout at me, his helmet’s expression grave.

I couldn’t make out the heads up, but I knew what it meant as they started.


We cut between a semi and a bus, moving into the middle of the next two lanes over. We had to bide our time till the next off ramp.

This wasn’t normal. Butchers weren’t daft enough to do this.

Not at these speeds.

There’d be nothing to fucking take.

Hold your breath and peek like it’s naughty.

They had moved onto our lane. The frontman dared to shift aside, inches from fiery death by the next car over, to allow the one behind to move up. Two riders, now.

Look forward. Wally was straining to see without throwing Skrimp off or losing his hold. The wind was salty and acidic, and as we continued acceleration, tore at the skin.

There was nothing we could do but drive.

It has to be schizos. Loons. Chiller thrill killers.

I turned back and saw the second rider of the front bike aiming off his friend’s shoulder, a cold steel barrel barely visible between the blinding highway lights. Continue reading


When I was younger I would sleepwalk, back before there was nowhere to go.

Life is a game of going faster, slower. Yet I go slowly, fast, and I don’t know.

I almost tripped, putting my focus on my feet.

The bells sounded to set us alight from school steps. Off we go!

Meandering in the crowd of others.

We were dodging the bus today. Getting out in the real world. Stretching our legs. All the things good boys do.

Fun, of the good ole American variety. Evil as she was.

Happy fucking Friday.

I had zoned through school, putting that blur behind me. Further, as we broke out of the crowd through the playground. Now, we were picking up our pace as the school lot ended up ahead in a barbed wire fence.

Wally’s firehouse coat flew up over the top and we climbed.

Most dangers weren’t frightening on countless confrontations, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cut myself on this fence. Almost two years of that.

The same amount of time I’d known my friends.

That’s what they are. Not a motley crew, more like four white guys.

We could be dull together. 

Coming over the fence, this time, I hit the ground running.

Four sets fell into tandem footfalls.

Behind the school was a dead zone. Old roads that were only occasionally ridden by AI-driven sentries. Black eyes were still on every corner as we crossed the street.

I made sure to flash a smile up.

Passing under the scaffolding of an unfinished building, we hurdled the lip of a paneless storefront window.

Chained to the raw concrete pillars inside which jutted up from the linoleum were three bikes. Three beautiful petrol and electric powered bikes. Waiting.

Skrimp clapped his hands together. “Hey now, baby!”

Wally’s eyes adjusted on me as I looked back. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Who you ridin’ with?” I asked.

“He’s with me,” Skrimp grinned. “I drive the carefullest.”

“Like hell you do,” Dag said. He pulled the keychain from his black jacket pocket and sorted through them, stripping keys off one at a time.

He tossed mine. Continue reading