street legal
some time in the summer of 2023

I saw them on Ocean Boulevard, where the dirty sand meets the dirty sea. I was walking behind a man whose back sweat was coating the gray t-shirt he was wearing. He had a buzzcut and I could see the sweat in between the little blades of hair that spiked his head. Across the street was a group of young guys wearing black hoodies. It was incredible, almost admirable, how they weren't affected by the heat.

I saw them at the traffic light. He was driving a pitch-black motorbike that sounded like a jet engine. He was shirtless, chest hair matted to his tatted up skin. He had big aviators and a cigarette hanging on for dear life from his lips. His hair was slicked back and bleach blonde. The evident wrinkles on his face slowly pointed to a puffy mustache that was as dark as the Harley he had brought with him.

Behind him was a young woman who had her hair up with a claw clip. She had her arms wrapped around his waist, and her head was rested against his shoulder. I couldn't stop thinking about how the sweat from his back must've felt on her face. She had something about her that seemed broken. She didn't want to be where she was, but she was there regardless. She was put in Myrtle Beach that day to ride on the back of this man's motorbike.

As the light turned green, the engine roared, and they were gone. I can't imagine where they would go.

-- > i want to go back home < --