The light turned green, and Jack twisted the throttle, feeling the engine’s power rumbling through the seat and up his spine.  The bike, an old Yamaha Road Star, was now considered mid-sized, but the throaty growl from the pipes told another story.  He bought it used not long after he quit his physical therapy.  Everyone thought he was nuts, knowing the only reason he wasn’t already dead was the cage of metal that surrounded him in the car.  Worse, in their minds, was his refusal to wear a helmet.

Damn thing is just there to keep your face pretty for the post-mortem identification.

He would rather feel the wind on his face as he sped down the highway, knowing that any wreck serious enough to leave him paralyzed would kill him outright.  That way, no one ha...

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