He slammed his foot to the ground; opening up the throttle
as far as it would go. He had
always been something of a rebel.
As a young man, he had perfected the art of the pickup, taking women for
rides on his Harley. He still took
women for rides but they weren’t 20 anymore. Then again, neither was he.
He had the wind in his hair; he felt imposing and cool,
the kind of cool that teenaged Marlboro men everywhere aspire to. He had on his faded leather jacket, a
concession his bosses had allowed when he took this job. Of course, he still had to wear his
blue cloth vest over his jacket.
But as long as he didn’t dwell on that, he was cool. As he drove the corridors, he spotted
his next target, his next pickup.
“Excuse me, ma’am?
Do you need a ride to your gate?”
When she accepted, he placed a helping hand under the octogenarian’s
elbow to steady her as she boarded the golf cart…his golf cart. “Still got it,” he thought, as they
sped away through the airport together.
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