His earbuds pulse softly with music that only he can hear. His motorcycle purrs unabated down the freeway at speeds that would terrify most drivers. He flies past a cop car, and smiles when the officer doesn’t even bother to flash his lights. The car would never catch him, they both knew that.

The Ducati weaves between cars and through spaces that would trouble a small bird. Nothing can touch the rider; it seems as if he is on a different level than all of the other drivers as he weaves effortlessly through traffic. The cool night air ruffles what little hair he has left, and in the distance, the city skyline distorts the starlight and draws the eye.

As he shoots down the highway, the rider contemplates many things. The sheer incomprehensible size of the world around him. The freedom of his motorcycle, and the loneliness that freedom brings. The rider shakes his head and smiles ruefully. He knows he can’t deny the call of the open road. He throttles up and continues off into the night, alone.

And at peace.

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