The coffin never seems to cool down. Just when I think it’s time to shake hands with the withering man, the key turns, the seats heat and off I go. I’m there in no time. 10 bikes collecting dust. Slow leaks nearing their end. Stan’s sitting idle and forming hard shapes inside. I fuss over the thought of if and when. Lifestyle changes for the better. Working towards what. Less time with who. I am a victim of myself. My shadow stares and wonders when the wheels will start turning again. Too much comfort. start without me. I’ll catch up. As is always the case, a plan is in motion.