It’s all good.
I’m snug, he’s there. Holding my hand, a nice soft hand, I’m tight.
Right now, he’s my touchstone — all is secure.
He’s eccentric, I’m eccentric. We’re balanced. It’s kind, it’s doable.
And then, we hit the Palmetto.
The tops up and the night is really black, and six gears later we’re doing 80 — at first it feels — just — good, the wind is chill-brisk and the sound is softly silencing, whipping, whipping fast.
He’s cool, he’s got my hand in his, he’s in control.
But — he’s losing me to the wind.
I shift from good to trance and with the trailing lights of Miami zipping around us like a scene out of 2001: A Space Odyssey, I do the unthinkable…
— because I know,
I sense that my next move is going to blow my fucking mind…
and it does.
I close my eyes.
There you are: wind.
Wind that whips fast. Wind, familiar, thrashing.
Wind that only comes from moving fast, fast, fast through it.
So fast — so fast the wind — that in my closed-eyed state — my blindness — I have become only feeling. I am nothing but — affected — at the mercy of speed’s lure.
It’s gone from good to trance to thrill and I’m now begging the wind to come at me, come at me like I’ve never been come at before…
My eyes closed — I don’t care.
I don’t care what happens because the thrill is too high, too beyond anything I’d ever felt before
I’m a speed demon
a wind junkie
I like fast cars — no, I like super super fast cars
with tops up
on wide open highways
holding his hand
in our eccentric, warm way
knowing he’s got the wheel
while I’m crashing.