The Ghouls' Review Winter 2014 | Page 8

surges like flood waters into your mind. Swing your leg over the saddle (holy hell you're sore), and stand there for a moment, mostly to steady yourself to keep from toppling over like a stiff-legged drunk. Remove your helmet and breathe deeply. Savour everything. You're now somewhere you hadn't been that morning — Day 1 of many into an adventure. As the sun nestles itself below the distant plane of the Earth, like a sleepy infant under a thick blanket, the bottom of your brain suddenly drops out. You're struck by a chilling epiphany: Oh dear god. I have to do this again first thing tomorrow. Then your posture softens and you smile, reconsidering: No. Thank god I get to do this again first thing tomorrow.