

One Last JoyrideAnd tonight, the storm roars, and I shall soon see Bob Dylan, and this is how it would go, if this were to be my last night: I would be alone on a motorcycle. Or perhaps I would be with my friends in a car. Either way, I would be riding, black jeans, scuffed black leather jacket, black shoes, old tye-dye shirt. On the motorcycle, i would hear nothing but the roar of the storm and my head would be covered in a black helmet. I would hum old Nick Cave murder ballads as I outpaced the lightining. In the car, I would provide Bruce Springsteen and screech as the car skidded around corners and yawp above the wind. We could again outrace the stOne Last Joyride