Sitting on the chair, when I see the open highway, underneath the golden sun, I go back to the sixties where I actually belong. Rusty bikes, cans of beer, tank full petrol, group of friends and an open highway. The best hours of the day would be when it drizzled and we raced our bikes and got ourselves drenched completely. Racing was my passion, and passion became my living. My Harley Davidson raced down the tracks with a thunder. Some days were victorious while some just passed by, but nonetheless, I was more interested in female fans that grew day by day.
And then, once, looking at those hot girls on the first bench, cheering for me, took my attention, and I lost control, and the bike skid and there I was, lying still, couldn’t move, everything was blurred, I could hear people shouting and crying, and the ambulance siren faded, and then everything went black.
And here I am 50 years hence, on the wheel chair, looking at the highway with my heart still 18 going on 68.
The Snooze Button 