black chevrolet

The chain of stoplights along Harvard Boulevard slowly blink red, beginning far, far away and sequencing backward. Something about the dusk haze of 3 hours of running around tending to all the little scattered chicks makes me want to twist the throttle and leave things behind for a few hours.  That and remembering past lives and not being able to sleep.  I'm not awake enough now; the afternoon was long and I am drowsy.  And here I am at the carport already, good grief. The motorcycle ticks over quietly to itself.  I cut the ignition.  Do I really not want to go anywhere? Should I lock it...I lock it. Cover it.  Start walking, gloves in hand.  Tonight, not the night for aimless and desperate wandering.