Riding on my little motorcycle will never get stuck

The summer night wind swept through my ears, and I rode a motorcycle through the flowing lights of the city, like a meteor breaking out of orbit.

There was only one oil left in the fuel tank, and the sound of the motorcycle's panting and my heartbeat gradually froze, carrying me to the unknown distance. My father's back in the rearview mirror became smaller and smaller, and this second-hand motorcycle suddenly became a thousand pounds. It turned out that leaving home felt like this.

The temperature of her waist wrapped around my waist penetrated her thin shirt, the small motorcycle drew a twisted arc on the circumference of the sea, and the back seat carried the throbbing of my entire adolescence.

The small motorcycle delivering takeaway split the water surface in the heavy rain. The insulated box contained other people's dinner and the tutoring fee for my son's next semester. The blue smoke from the exhaust pipe was mixed with morning mist, and the small motorcycle team of the old lady in the vegetable market was like a guerrilla team, carrying fresh vegetables to capture every corner.

On my 30th birthday, I finally rode on the Kawasaki I had always dreamed of, but I began to miss the worn-out motorcycle that accompanied me through the city village.

. The stray cat in the front basket of the small motorcycle pricked up his ears, and we walked through seven streets and alleys, and the cat hunting notice in the pet shop in the rearview mirror was floating away in the wind. The two helmets touched each other gently, and she smiled and said that I was riding a motorcycle like the princess who stole out of "Roman Holiday".

When the police stopped the shaking motorcycle, the drunk man took out a yellowed photo from his arms: "Comrade, look, this car was the most beautiful boy in the village in 1988."