I ride down in my black motorcycle on a desert highway. The wind whips through my strands of my short blonde hair. My jacket flaps behind me, knowing the "Lightning" writing on the back gleams in the sunlight. I finally decided to get the writing on the jacket rather than word of mouth. I suppose it is just about time that I finally got it branded in writing on my jacket or something, maybe I should add it on my bike. Afterall my motorcycle allows me to travel to all of the places that I have been to so quickly.
I ride down the road, not a single cloud in sight, and somehow I know that it is going to be a perfect day. I pass grasses and the occasional car or trucker. It is a slow day on a sunday, and I suppose it has always been like that for many centuries with believing in a fictitious god or something and people praising it. For me, I never had time to focus on anything else but myself. I was always leaving, never found a place or something that suited me, and crazy enough I am just fine with it. Actually I would not want to have it any other way.
Perhaps the best part about my aloofness was just that, being alone, being in my own state of mind, flying down the country roads, seeming invincible. With my gun holstered to my waist, bouncing in the holster, I might as well be invincible. With my gun and the constant hum of my motorcycle, what more can a man want? Maybe a beer and a girl, but the life that I set out for myself and lived is not where I need to go. A girl would just be a distraction for me. I may be blind to my destiny sometimes, but I know enough to know what is right and what is good for me. I can temporarily have a beer, it is harder to temporarily have a girl with me by my side.
I ride quietly, peacefully in my own state of mind enjoying the tune of my motorcycle until I spot a dusty old salon off in the distance and decide to stop for a drink or two. I pull over onto a gravel parking lot, my boots standing on the uneven ground as I kick the kickstand, making sure that it will stay upright for a handful of minutes. I walk through the wooden doors, pushing it open. I grab my black sunglasses, as the darkness of the room greets me. My eyes catch a wooden bar on my right hand tables and industrial chairs fill the room. I walk along the wooden floorboards as my boots echo throughout the salon. At first I think there is not anyone else in the bar, but as I walk up to the bar, a girl with raven black hair is washing some dishes. From the other side of the counter I can see she wears a white tank top. She looks up at me and brown eyes gleam, brightening the room. I didn't notice until just now how dull the lights was, how dull the building was until just now. She changed everything locking my eyes on mine. Maybe this girl is okay to talk to for a few minutes, then I will excuse myself, harmless.
"Want somthin' ta drink?" She ask in a southern drawl, with a bright smile that melts my heart.
"A Pats Blue Ribbon will do jus fine."
I stare around at the salon some more while she fixes my bear. It is eerily quiet. It unsettles me as I get this feeling that it should not be like this. Something about today and in this building is off.
"Jus' you t'day?" I ask, meeting her eyes again, like a lock mesmerized and cannot be undone without a proper combination which I have seemed to lose, possibly her too.
"Yeah, my boss stops in from time to time." She says handing me my drink in a glass cup, glancing at me, as if she is unsure how much she wants to engage in this conversation.
As I take a sip, I spot something out of the corner of my eye. Neon blue and green blurs my vision and I turn to see what has caught my eyes. I chuckle when I see a jukebox. I take another sip of my beer, amused. I thought they were long extinct in most places. The jukebox sits in the side of the corner tucked away right next to the wooden bar. The neon colors are a bright contrast against the wooden paneling and the industrial seats, nothing about the jukebox makes it fit in. Perhaps that is why it is so special in a place like this.
