The Biker's Rules
The moonlight cuts sharp lines across his face, but it doesn’t reach his gaze.
There’s a heaviness there that mirrors the weight sitting in my own chest.
“Personally? I don’t think he’s that dumb,” I answer.
I try to refocus on the job. On the dark stretch of asphalt. On the SUV sitting like a patient beast in the open lot. On the faint hum of the bay wind sweeping salt into the air.
But the song is still echoing in my head. I wanna live, not just survive.
It’s ridiculous how a lyric can hit like a punch to the ribs. Because the truth is — I’ve been surviving for years. Surviving is efficient. It’s functional. You breathe, you move, you punch back when necessary.