Riding with the commitment of a suicide bomber
Sitting in the cage, waiting to turn left into the main road into Takapuna at the Milford lights. I watched the lights go red on the main drag, watched the light go green for the right turning lane beside me...
And then I hear a sportsbike rev up, and - to be honest, I'm a little in awe of this guys attempt to remove himself from the gene pool - and watch in horror as a Honda CBR in Moviestar colours, dodges, filters past the white Nissan stopped for the red, and races through the red.
The car to my right hit the brakes, as did I to avoid making someone roadkill.
Was he in a rush? No, not really. We followed him for most of Hurstmere road, watching him fidgit with his lid, his jacket, making jerky movements all over the road.
So, no comment or judgement from me at all, if you want to be roadkill, you're adequately equipped - no brains, no attention, and best of all, jeans and trainers.
The first two digits of your plate are 23, if you're in any doubt that I might be talking about someone else. Fucktard.
It’s diametrically opposed to the sanitised existence of the Lemmings around me in the Dilbert Cartoon hell I live in; it’s life at full volume, perfect colour with high resolution and 10,000 watts of amplification.
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