the ghost of jupiter

my appointment was approaching. raj’s father was getting ready to leave for his office in patna.

“come,” he said. “we’ll sit in the car.”

we sat turned towards each other, and he said:

“give me your hand.”

i held it out, and he grasped it as in a handshake, but held it in a grip for several moments. then releasing it, he gave my thumb a quick backward flip, and murmured:

“achcha!”

“you have a very determined soul. this is also reflected in your mind.”

“you are jupiter…”

why not? i thought. i like the sound of that.

—ted simon, jupiter’s travels:

four years around the world on a triumph

the bastard forgets things all the time.

hell, I forget to do this all the time.

but there is on thing I don't forget all the time.

and that's the roar of the machine.

there's this guy who lives a few doors down from me who owns this very triumph tiger (not this Bonnie but the one up top).

and he apparently works near my office.

and he apparently heads home around the same time as me because I saw him tear down 32nd. and park when I was heading home on tuesday.

and it was a reaffirmation of the fact that I want to get the wind back in my face.

poverty has made the bastard feel sedentary

and

I want to rectify that.

but,

what to do? what fo do?

at least I get to see the tiger when it's warm out and think about jupiter,

and hope for a chance to meet the wind again.

one day. one fucking good day I will.

—the bastard