Jayson kicked his Continental GT 650 ignition, roaring it to life. His dying light blue denim jeans barely shielded the heat from the exhaust, but he smiled nonetheless. It was a while since he had taken the bad boy for a spin, and the familiar smell of the Royal Enfield calmed him from any discomfort he had.
His palms were still blistered and red from the wooden crates he had been putting together all day.

He looked back to admire his handy work.

The splinters from the makeshift plant box that his father and he had been tasking away at for the last three hours were now being swept away by his mother. She gave him an apprehensive look as he winked at her. His dad was two feet away from her, admiring their handiwork. His light blue t-shirt clung to his ageing body from sweat and his grey hair flicked his eyes brow as he let out slow and emphatic breaths.

One hand was nestled over his hip, flicking the belt loop of an identical pair of dying blue jeans. The other slowly piloting a mug of tea up to his lips. He could see the effort of trying to shave away the grey beard had become futile, the 5 o’clock shadow now littered with flecks of sawdust.
Jayson whistled for his attention.
His mother shot up and cast him a deathly glare.
She fucking hated whistling. But his dad brought his head up and smiled. He lifted the mug in a cheers as he stepped forward next to his wife.

The long strands of black hair on his mother’s shoulders swayed as she sighed heavily, eyeing the steel horse between Jayson’s legs.
She raised her eyebrows and stubbornly started sweeping again.
Jayson smirked and pulled the deep brown leather riding gloves over his beaten up hands, kicking back the stand as the bike rolled forward.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and shot back to see his mum holding the broom in one hand and his helmet in the other. She said something as he took it in his hands and fitted it over his head. It was all just a deaf muffle amongst the engine, but he gave her one last smile before sliding the black square aviators sitting on his shirt collar, up the bridge of his nose. The biked lurched forward and jetted down the steep street and Jayson looked over his shoulder to see his mother trying not to smile and his father saluting him off.

The wind rushed passed as the sun shone briefly in his eyes. He used the rush to guide him, decreasing his speed until he opened his eyes again. For a brief moment, he felt like he had let go. His spirit left its shell as his stomach lurched up, the sweat clinging to his neck and stained white shirt flicking up and away with the wind. As he opened his eyes, the light faded into the road ahead,…the black tar seemed like an old welcoming friend as the sound of tyre on road became one with the engine he sat on.
As trees and houses blurred by, a smile erupted from Jayson’s face. He could feel the rush on his teeth and through his mouth. The dryness that came was a welcome, another discomfort that seemed to be worth it.
He clicked the gear into second before letting go of the throttle.

A wisp of faces looked at him as he skimmed by what seems to be the space and time between them. Jayson kept going. He let the smile fade from his face as he locked onto the familiar black tar of the road in front. As each person wisped away, their faces plastered with shock and awe at his speed, he felt himself go. They were nothing. Just a faint imprint in his mind. They didn’t matter. They never did, not till this.

He turned and the handles every so often, into corners and down quiet streets. A group of kids playing street cricket stopped their game as they watched him swerve in between wickets. The ball and bat became less interesting as he winked and smiled.
Their wicked grins stretched out the dirt on their faces and the water from the local outdoor tap clung to their small bodies as they chased him out of their street. They waved him off as Jayson took a look back before heading up a steep hill. The houses made way for trees and fields as he climbed up a steep road.
With a final bend and circle around he slowly came to a halt next to a tree overlooking the small suburb he just came from.

The giant anthill filled with houses and street seemed so far away as slowly took off his helmet. Jayson exhaled before he wiped his brows and forehead. He rested the helmet on one knee and unbuttoned the wrist fold on his gloves. The white shirt still clung to his body but it soothed him as a firm breeze rolled by. Dismounting from the bike he kicked the stand back in and took out the keys. The grass beneath his black and white Converse’s welcomed him right under the tree as he sat down and rested his back and head on the firm bark behind him.

His arm slowly slipes into his pocket as he fumbles and pinches and then pulled out. In his hand, a black zippo lightly clicked open. Jayson softly brought his head down and pursed his lips over the other object in between his fingers. A small, off white, sliver could be seen his mouth and now in his cupped hands as it caught the light. As he clicked the zippo to rest, the soft sizzle of the joint in his lips sung to life. He waited a moment and extended his head into the air as he exhaled in a giant huff. In a moment the space in front of Jayson’s face darkened in a white and grey cloud before fading into the sun in the air.

Jayson let the buzz of flies fade away and turned on the picture view to his right. He gazed out onto the maroon, blue and grey rooves as they came in and out of focus.

AS he turned back to his front he could feel the little chips of wood dig into his shoulder blades, but he nestled in, showing no discomfort.
How could he?
The setting was peaceful.

It was perfect.

It always had been.

He breathed out and let the shade cool his body before letting the breeze soothe his eyes close.