I’m at home, and I suddenly realize that the party is starting at that new club across town. I have fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to get there, but for some reason, I’m not worried at all. In fact, I let a few minutes pass, and have a beer, maybe make a sandwich.

At five minutes till, I serenely lope down the stairs to the alley out back, where my new motorcycle awaits. I hop on, turn the key, and rev out into the boulevard, people staring at me and holding their ears the whole way. I weave in and out of traffic, fly through cars and intersections. I make a 90 degree turn, and expertly bend my knee towards the road, taking a second to wink at an awestruck kid watching me.

I make it to the club two minutes after the party starts, fashionably late. I hop off the bike and toss the keys to the valet, who’s drooling with the anticipation of parking it. I only have to pay $3 instead of the $6 for fullsize cars.

After the party, I take this hot girl I’ve met, Mona, outside the club to say goodnight. I’ve let slip that I used to own an SUV, and she’s looking at me kind of funny. I’m worried that the night might be over. She starts to say something about waking up in the morning.

And then we get to my bike.

All of a sudden she has to tell her friends something, but asks me to wait for her. I do, and she comes back a few minutes later and says her friends have left her by herself, and do I have anywhere for her to go.

I say sure, babe, we hop on the bike, and go back to my apartment, all the while doing the whole weaving through the streets thing again. And all on a wheelie.

Two weeks later, my hot girlfriend Mona and I are on our way up to Wisconsin to buy cheese and get it on in new places, and we have to stop for gas. I pull into the station, and she heads inside to get sodas and road food.

I pull the lever, fill up the tank for the trip. The gas clicks when it’s finished, and the readout says I only have to pay $11.00 for a full tank.