Night Shift was about as comforting as a strip club could be: it was cold, dark and clinical. A machine hissed and spewed milky white fog across the ceiling, turning blue under the black lights. Crystal Methods Shes My Pusher was the soundtrack of the moment as the next woman to catch my eye was Jen. She was drop dead gorgeous but quite empty of anything Id ever consider worth fighting for.

Her face lit up and she began crawling along the bar towards me, her long blond hair draped down around her shoulders. The barmaid smiled at me with arched brows as if to say lucky you. Man shes already naked. . . .

Hi there, hon, she said. And then she whispered seductively close to my ear, touching my chest, You back to blow more coke off my stomach?

See what I mean?

Maybe later, I said, sliding a couple bucks into her g-string. I just need a drink right now to loosen up.s your pusher, baby? she said, nibbling my ear lobe.

I only nodded. She winked and crawled to the next lucky victim. I watched her crawl away why am I leaving again?and walked back out the door after her song was over. I tapped the pocket above my breast. She didnt let me down.

Leaving Night Shift I headed to Hellfire Club in the lightning-wrought atmosphere. There, all my worries usually went away. They were forced away. Drowned in so many chemicals and poisons that nothing could exist in my mind save for the woozy absolution of numbness.

I cruised along the harbor, alone, and enjoyed the scent of the water in my last few minutes of sobriety for the night. The rain seemed to be gone, for now. The thumping beat of the Ducati 916s twin Termignoni exhaust hummed away at low RPMs beneath me. The street lamps, reflecting through my helmet visor, churned up a feeling of dizziness, and thunder echoed the growling in my stomach.

Rolling down Boston Street the bike shut off; I pulled the clutch lever in and drifted to a stop. I turned the ignition off, and then back on, and pushed the starter button.

Nothing.

I flicked up my visor and looked to the sky in emotional fatigue.

A shooting star flew through the sky. But then it suddenly changed directions, as if deflected from its original trajectory, or realized it was heading in the wrong direction. And then the star stopped. It sat there, bright and twinkling, perhaps realizing that it had been spotted doing something it shouldnt have done.

Back to the bike, I pulled off the right fairing. There along that trellis frame sat the rectifier. I neglected to replace it for years now. I tapped on it a few times, and tried the starter button again; this time she jumped to life.

Thunder rolled across the city with each fierce flash of lightning. On several occasions it was so close that I heard the static electricity discharge and I nearly felt the heat; the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up, as if trying to embrace the electricity. And with another boom of thunder, my heart jumped in my chest. It was getting nasty, and I actually thought about heading home. The harbor to my left was like a mirror that echoed the sheets of lightning that flickered and danced all over. The drugs were making me quite emotional. As I bolted the fairing back on, I found some time to think . . .

Why did you have to utterly shred my heart, Alison? All that I wanted was to share everything with you, to come home at night to you, to sleep next to you. Did you lie about your happiness? The time we spent together seems only like a dream. . . .

Ali was only memories to me at this time, but the painI did a good job of suppressing it, usuallywas there, hidden under layers of thick self-loathing and insecurity. She had led me to believe that I was in lovethat she was in love with me toobut that was lust playing tricks on my mind. She forgot about me in what seemed like only a moment, so I had made myself do the same. I let her fade away.

I felt guilt on top of the depression. Here I was, discontented; when in another part of the world countless men, women and children were dead and dying. And my sister Rosestationed at Elmendorf Air Force Base in Alaskawas possibly heading to hostile Iraq; my uncle was already there, and there was a chance that my dad was going to be re-enlisted and shipped out, as well, if the war made a turn for the worse. But currently, the war was going as well as the Pentagon expected, though hundreds of thousands of Americans were still being deployed continuously to the war effort.

Sitting there in the silence between rumbles of thunder I began to feel queasy. There was this knot in my stomach forming, and then I saw something disturbing. The city all around me was in flames, and the buildings were blown away around me, and a mushroom cloud erupted in the center of the city.Vivid doesnt even come close to describing the hallucination. Or daydream. Or whatever the hell it was.

I looked down the street and there was this guy standing there staring at me. I thought he looked peculiar because he was wearing sunglasses. But he turned and started down the opposite end of the sidewalk. And here I was ready to kick some ass. . . . Meanwhile the bike stalled out again, though this time undoubtedly due to lack of fuel in the tank.

I thumbed the starter once more, and the engine fired to life in a throaty roar in lethargic double beats. I kicked down into first gear and slowly headed back onto the empty street.

Anytime I was riding on a fairly straight road I naturally felt the need to pull a wheelies quite obligatory to most sportbike riders, especially in front of peopleso while shifting into second I dumped the clutch and opened the throttle; I began what was probably the ugliest wheelie in history. I felt the rear wheel slide over the wet pavement and I had to dab the rear brake because I had used too much throttle. I went completely backwards once, landing hard on my back and head and obliterating the bikeand I wasnt going to go there again.

A flash of lightning startled my inebriated senses, so I brought the bikes front-end down abruptly. A tree was blasted by a bolt of white lightning that slithered blindingly through it instantly, stopping at the moist earth mound of roots at its base. Organic shrapnel hit me in the visor and chest as the tree came toppling down, landing in my path. I narrowly avoided a massive chunk of the trunk, pushing the bike to lean and swerving around it in a quick right-left juke maneuver. I remember the tires losing traction on the slippery pavement, but I dont remember losing control of the bike, and I shut my eyes tight . . .

. . . I opened my eyes, and there was a bright light. I blinked several times while trying to regain some semblance of what had just happened. I leaned forward and looked over at where the light was coming fromit was the Ducatis headlamp. The bike was lying just under a truck, the front tire still spinning slowly.

I remembered avoiding the tree. My helmet was lying beside me, rolling back and forth. I mustve hit my head, because I simply didnt remember falling off or hitting anything. I did remember, howeverwhich could probably be attributed to hitting my headblacking out, sort of, and seeing stars, thousands of them, which seemed to rush at me at all angles; and seeing total darkness and infinite color at the same time.

I made to get up, but felt back down again, feeling like the wind was knocked out of me. Trying to get up once more, a hand was outstretched in front of me, and I looked up to the one offering. The first thing I noticed about him was that he was wearing sunglassesthis was the guy from earlier, down the road. Light blue lenses hid his eyes from meeting mine directly, but I took his hand anyway out of appreciation. Welcome back, he said.

I asked.

he said, with his hand still holding on to my arm in case I would fall over again. You were out for about fifteen seconds or sothe time it took me to run over here from down the street. You just lay in the street, not moving a muscle. I saw the lightning strike close by, and then heard your bike hit the ground. I thought you were dead.

Still feeling woozy from the fall, I clumsily picked the bike uplord was it heavyand noticed that it was all banged up on the right side. The mirror had snapped off, and the foot peg was shaved down a bit, and the fairing was sanded down past the paint.

Ambulance should be here in a moment, he said.

I looked at him, and then quickly hopped on the seat. I wasnt trying to hang around for a free DWI ticket.

re planning on riding again? You really should wait for the paramedics. You may have seriously hurt yourself. Even though you dont feel too bad nowm fine, I said, while simultaneously thumbing the starter button. Over the exhaust I yelled, Thanks for your help, though. Preciate it.

A block later and the damned thing died again. I pushed it a block to Hellfire.

In the parking lot, I jumped back on the seat again to catch my breath. I pulled out the small baggie of cocaine Jen had slipped me and cut-up a line on the fuel tank with my license. White Lines, I sang, blowing through my mind. Inhaling, I was hit with a burst of euphoric serenity that transcended the accident, taking me above it, where only this feeling could have given me the carelessness to do such a foolish thing in public, I realized as a few guys walked by, staring in amazement. White Lines . . . blow away.

My throat tightened, making it barely able for me to swallow. My teeth felt as if I could pull each of them out of my mouth without any sort of pain; it was as if they were asking for me to remove them because my jaw, which wouldnt stop moving, wanted them gone. I rubbed my tongue along my gums and the roof of my mouth like it was a womans breast.

After pouring a few drops on the ground, I sipped the whiskey in my flask to wash the poison down.

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