Home » Life Chats » Death is a Biker, and He is Pissed

Death is a Biker, and He is Pissed

While driving down the road the other day, enjoying the sunshine and beautifulness that was hiding for the past six months (or so it feels like), I happened to look in my rearview mirror and see THIS:

Death follows me wherever I go, because I am apparently Emily Dickinson.

Death follows me wherever I go, because I am apparently Emily Dickinson.

Yes, it’s a little hard to see, and my hand is less steady when I’m taking pictures while driving (don’t judge me), but this is definitely a SKELETON RIDING A MOTORCYCLE. Not in a Ghostrider-cool-guy-skull-helmet kind of way, but in a my-entire-outfit-is-a-skeleton-and-I-will-rip-you-apart-with-biker-fury kind of way.

 

Not only that, but this guy followed me for SEVERAL MILES. I was convinced that he was following me home.

 

He didn’t, of course. That would be silly. I still breathed a sigh of relief when he turned away from me, though.

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3 thoughts on “Death is a Biker, and He is Pissed

  1. Pingback: Picture it & Write/ Ermiliablog | terry1954

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