Riding. My Bike.

It’s Monday morning.
I’m driving down I-95. Off to work. Same
Two car lengths in front of me is a rider.
Helmet-less.
Cars in front and back of him giving him wide berth.
I close the gap to one car length.
And hold position.
Both of us cruising a smooth 55.
A Harley.
I’ve never been on a bike. Never.
Hemingway: “No, that is the great fallacy: the wisdom of old men. They do not grow wise. They grow careful.”
Man is speaking to me. Don’t like it.