Stories from the Back of His Motorcycle


His foot closed down over the cigarette he’d just thrown casually to the floor. I watched Vaughn commit such a normal crime – one that I’d failed to coax him out of – even after his life-altering words sunk in. He examined the various expressions that crossed against my face with wary eyes. Vaughn was worried I’d freak out. Start bawling. Start shouting. Start denying. But he should have known me better than that.

“So you’re dying? Well… that sucks.”