I’ll take your southern fries with your southern lies and line up with the rest of the guys behind joes revving their bikes until the ground is humming a chorus of hit songs, their st Christopher’s hanging over their jackets, the leathers pitched coughing every time they clench their fists.
I watch them all riding into their own personal sunsets, the silhouette of trees licking at the aluminium of their bikes as the light and the smoke from their purring wheels crafted this awesome white hue that kills my eyes but amazes them in equal measure.
And through my grit tears I could have followed them, but I am not a brave man, my life laid out in front of me in steady lines of concrete bathed in a cool sun, not a brick haphazard or out of place, not a chance ever taken.
This is a life lived but never loved. A body worked but never woken. I walked home and stepped on a few cracks. My life was complete. I sighed and continued the day as planned.