Myfree _hot_project File

Last night, it was done. Not perfect—never perfect. The tank had a dent I decided to keep. The left turn signal blinked a little faster than the right. But the engine idled with a low, irregular heartbeat that was entirely its own.

I wasn't restoring a motorcycle. I was restoring a part of myself that got buried under performance reviews and mortgage applications. myfreeproject

But tonight, I have a garage, a half-tank of stale gas, and an open road. Last night, it was done

It's about the person you become while you're building it. The left turn signal blinked a little faster than the right

The concrete floor of the garage was cold through the knees of my jeans. Dust motes danced in the single beam of light cutting through the darkness. In front of me, under a stained canvas tarp, was .

My boss thinks I'm building a bike to sell. My girlfriend thinks it's a midlife crisis. My neighbor thinks it's an eyesore.