The cashier laughed at her. Not a nervous laugh, not a polite chuckle—this was sharp, cruel, and unmistakably real.
I stood frozen in line, my hands gripping the handlebars of my metaphorical motorcycle that had carried me across deserts, highways, and lifetimes of experience.
Sixty-seven years on this Earth, forty-three spent riding motorcycles, seeing fights, accidents, heartbreak—I had never felt anger rise…
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