Ann Minnett, Author

          Normally I wouldn't take the Vespa out on North Central Expressway. Wouldn't push to its top speed of fifty-nine mph, challenging the drunks and lovers who careen the highways at 2:00 a.m. Normally. Tonight they pass on my left and right, swaying my scooter in their vortexes. Two sets of headlights approach from behind like my Vespa stands still. One flashes its brights, and the one in my lane signals, changing lanes at the last second. They pass simultaneously, eighteen wheelers racing for the Oklahoma border and a payday. The force of their passing wobbles my lovely Portofino Green Vespa, and my armpits sweat painfully the way my taste buds hurt when I look at pineapple upside down cake. For that second, whatever it is that haunts me poofs , and I breathe deeply with the joy of survival. Then it's there again. A void. I'll take side streets through nice neighborhoods toward home. I'll smell the lush plants of late summer while they take a breather