Motorcycle sounds roared as Entrepreneur Paul powered his thought machine. The Wilmington Chopper race had just started. The route ran down the state to Bethany Beach.
On a separate roadway, the cyclists motored down the highway. This enlivened Entrepreneur Paul. He felt the power under him and handled his vehicle with precision and might.
His intrepid foray into this cycle club proved to be yet another company founded by the magnate. This remained his only 501 (c) (3). The joy hecexperienced with every gear shift motivated him.
He knew that millions of books from his favorite philosopher would be in the hands of high school and college students.
He wove in and out of the other cyclists with ease. He then got a call through his helmet.
“L, what’s up?”
“You’ve gotta get back in town soon. Finish the race but don’t take too long. It’s happening….” Loreen answered.
“Roger that.” He knew what “it” was. The Collectivists had gathered around a public building and sought to gain a prominence in the city. Some wore t-shirts and held banners, others just looked on with blank stares. Like eyeless puppets hopping around on marionette strings, the congregants bounced to the beat of bongo band.
White women with knotty locks in their hair and black men with Mohawks marched in tandem with white men with hair stretching to their ankles. Black women wore natural hair in afro puffs atop their scalps.
Back to the bike, Atkinson only focused on his ability as a rider. In his assembly of steel, glass, and rubber, he hovered over the pavement with ferocity. A fellow businessman whom he had known for years passed him for the moment. A devilish grin stretched across his face. He passed him with quickness. The businessman stretched a grin and laughed.
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Skyler Saunders
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Comments (1)
I love this story.