Oh, you clicked on that, did you? Probably means you’re a worrier, hah! Well, I don’t know. Why do you think I posted this in the “Mystery” category at 3:00 a.m.? We can try replacing worry with something else, I guess. Heroin, maybe, or a plate of steaming hot waffles soaking in high-fructose syrup with slabs of melting butter on top and a big glass of ice-cold milk. A new motorcycle magazine. A trip to Colorado in a stolen Jeep. Would you believe, I rejected a house because there wasn’t a decent place to park a motorcycle. Oh sure. But what am I supposed to do, roll it into the living room like I was twenty-four? I can’t do that, I have a wife, for Christ’s sake. The funny thing is, I don’t even own a motorcycle. Seems like I should wait until I have more coming in so I can pay for those replacement parts. Mine, not the bike’s. [There he goes again.] But what if I’m too old? Use it or lose it, they say. What if I already lost it? Would a Ducati Scrambler bring it back? No, wait, we need a house. That better not be gum disease, I can’t afford another implant. Now see, I’m not doing this right.