She lit her Tiparillo and pulled her Suzuki up on its stand. It was one of those magical Ohio nights,complete with lightning bugs and the smell of New Riegel’s ribs; not BBQ, but smoky garlic, unlike any other rib joint in the world.
It was a haul from Finley to New Reigel but the ribs and the beers were worth it. It was one of those evenings that could have been early fall or late spring where everything smelled like it was wet and brand new. The Fudge shop was open and the Korean women were pulling and weaving maple, rocky road and even peppermint fudge, of all things. Their smooth faces, half smiled as they pulled and folded the fudge in a way that was hypnotic to watch. She could smell it in the air if she thought about it long enough.
She watched the 18-wheelers sail East on the turnpike from miles away, the tail-lights disappearing like solitary embers over the hills. This was the Ohio she loved–rolling hills and pitch black skies with a blanket of stars like diamonds laying on black velvet.
Even better was this time of night. Nobody on the roads and she could push her little 300 cc rice-burner as fast as it could go. It was proportional. Even with a buzz on, she could handle the Suzuki and let it off the leash and hear the little beast scream.
She pawned the asshole’s engagement ring. Had a pocket full of cash and not a goddamn thing in the world could catch her.