He felt as though he had been born with a suitcase in his hands and to him life had always been a journey. Not in some hippie philosophical way but in tangible miles and so he had kept moving, one foot in front of the other. He drove a motorbike that he had bought a few towns back when his car; red, old and knackered had given up. The exhaust had puffed its last mouthful of smoke and the engine stopped. He had pushed the car for two miles before he came across a small roadside garage. An old motorbike had been lent against a wall, forgotten until now. The greedy mechanics had happily swapped his car for the bike. His car destined to be stripped and sold for parts. One of the mechanics had smiled at him.
“Girls prefer a motorbike, forget the car. You’d never get a girl in that.” Continue reading “I Never Got Your Name (Short Story)”