After finding it dead, I charged my motorcycle battery all night and coaxed the bike back to life after dumping a bit of fuel into the carburetor. The little 250 cc Suzuki rice burner, torquey as a dragonfly, was always an eager beast, prone to leap from a trembling standstill, and take me with it.
But I end up mindlessly trolling the shady neighborhoods off the golf course, going slow, letting the dappled serenity wash over me. Pieces of domesticity appear and slide away. In this airy lassitude there's a growing sense that I may recover the sheer pleasure in just looking.