Nothing Left But Smoke

Moira was leaving Char's apartment for the last time.  Just this morning she had traded the Sig Sauer 220 she found in the nightstand for the Kawasaki ZX that was now vibrating violently between her legs.  The leather saddlebags looked a little strange on the lime green sport-bike, but she had to stash her clothes and her last few thousand dollars somewhere.  In the three days she had spent holed up at Char's, she came to two conclusions.  One, this family was seriously flocked up.  She thought she had pretty solid relationships with both Sam and Char, but they had taken off and left her without a word.  Screw both of them.  The second conclusion; she was way sick of this rainy cold weather.  She promised herself she would strip down to a bikini top as soon as she hit the Arizona border.  Two minutes later there was nothing left of her but a cloud of white smoke, and the smell of burnt Dunlop tires.

As soon as she hit the interstate, Moira could feel the dread and fear falling away.  Nobody knew where she was or where she was headed.  It was the total freedom she had been missing.  Half an hour later, she came up behind some biker boy on a Dukati.  For the next several miles, they engaged in a kind of vehicular flirting, darting past each other at break-neck speeds.  The anonymity of the full face shields only added to the exhilaration.  Something about the way they weaved in and out of traffic together reminded Moira of the way hawks make love as they plummet through the air.  He waved for her to follow when he got to his exit, but she only waved goodbye an she roared on, leaving him behind.

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