I think there might be more freedom on a motorcycle. I envision a cleansing wind slapping my face and forcefully pushing away every question and fear, every worry and wasted tear. Either the throaty rumble of an American Vtwin or the killer bee scream of a crotch rocket to serenade my escape. I wouldn't wait for red lights, just keep my wrist into the throttle -- already seeing the curves ahead. There would be nothing but a thin, split-second worth of air seperating me from 3,000lb of steel or waiting, black asphalt as I fly above and beside them. Pavement that reaches up to grab me and bring me to my end, but a little more pressure from my right hand and I am already gone.

Already gone.