would you do it with me
heal the scars
and chase the stars
would you do it for me
turn loose the heaven within
Eve was sitting in one of those chair-desks in a fourth floor classroom. Her motorcycle, Carby, was next to her. She was there for Calculus III. The professor walked in. It was Biff. He was wearing full riding gear (sans helmet), except that his jacket was open and he was wearing nothing underneath. Eve was getting hot. Biff took his gloves and jacket off and leaned against the desk casually, his bare chest glistening in the summer heat. "Today," he said, "we are going to talk about curves." Then he looked at Eve. "Your curves." Then Eve woke.
It was a dream.
Eve could not get back to sleep. She dressed for work and went for an early ride, taking the long way. Time had passed since the fight at Gretchen's...or maybe it was Ernie's. Whatever the case, Eve's life had settled. Eve ran through the same train of thoughts about enrolling in community college, moving out, better jobs, a better life. She continued analyzing a host of practical decisions that are irrelevant to this story.
Dave was already at the coffee shop when Eve arrived. He watched her dismount, then checked his phone. No messages. The girl he was waiting for was now 45 minutes late. He had been stood up again. There were at least 4 other coffee shops in a straight line between his current location and his place of employment, but none of them employed someone like Eve. Dave waited until she was at the register before going back up for another coffee. The one he had was still open. He tried to think of something good to say. So far, when she asked how he was doing, he had managed to casually mention various sports teams, salsa dancing, music, concerts, being in a band, flying, yoga, cooking, crazy stories, fashion, horseback riding, skiing, rock climbing, poker, books, amateur photography and drawing, volunteering at a suicide hotline, volunteering at some kind of one-time house building thing that was not Habitat for Humanity, travel to other cities, travel to other countries, various events and conventions, and of course movies, but none of those little thrusts had pierced the sickeningly polite veneer that all baristas equipped. Politics and religion might get a reaction, but they were too risking. Nothing crazy had happened recently--no drunk acquantances punching cab drivers or waking up pantless in a bathtub. Dave finally settled on the one topic that had initially been too cliche and obvious for his taste.
Eve's first customer that day was one of her regulars. He seemed quiet, and shy...possibly even awkward. One thing she noticed was that he always had some random thing to say when she was pretending to care about his day while he ordered. He mentioned being excited for a new round motorcycle trainees--apparently he was a rider coach for the safety program Eve had wanted to take. Eve told him her troubles getting into a class and he nodded sympathetically. He also handed her a card and told her to call him--he thought there might be an opening in a class. The card looked official, so Eve didn't throw it out. Then he left. Then he came back in with a sheepish look on his face, grabbed is backpack, and left again.
Dave walked back to work on a cloud of air. He didn't know how he survived that conversation; he was so nervous it took serious mental concentration to look her in the eye and not fidget. He had finally gotten through, maybe. He wasn't great at conversation. Whatever the case, he was excited. Unfortunately, he had lied about hearing someone get sick. He had just wanted to give her the card and get her to contact him outside of the coffee shop, for some reason other than their trite barista-customer relationship.
The first person he saw when back at work was a buddy in the security department.
"I need to get into a website."
"Which one?"
"The motorcycle safety one. I need to hack the schedule," said Dave.
His friend paused, thinking. "Hmm...lets take a lot." He pulled up a special browser window on his computer, directed it to the safety website, and looked at a bunch of red flags on the right. "Oh! You're in luck. I think a simple cross-site scripting attack could work. If we were to assume they are using a mysql database that isnt too ancient...." He thought for a second. "I'm emailing you a link. Leave your browser open for a couple of days, and you should get database access."
"That's all I need," said Dave. "Thanks." He did as he was instructed, and after a lot of careful mapping that had the convenient side effect making his boss thing he was working hard, he knew his way around the registration system of the motorcycle safety program.
Eve called a few days later, asking if there were any openings. Dave gave her a good show, booted someone out of his next class and registered her for it. Dangerous work, but he chose carefully, and later called the person up and offered to teach them for free until they passed the exam.
Two weeks later, Eve attended her first motorcycle class. It was divided into two sections: a classroom portion, and the range, where they actually rode. The classroom was boring and frustrating, although little did she know random tidbits from that class would prove their value later. The range time is where she truly excelled, and began to understand motorcycles, engines, and balance. Dave was one of several teachers but she liked him best. He traded numbers with her minutes after she had passed the exam flawlessly.
Dave was riding high all the way home that day--high on a girl. He had tentative plans to go riding with Eve sometime, since he just happened to have the same exact underpowered sportbike that she did (except that it was green). The reason he had the same exact bike as she did was that he had used to own a ninja 250, and remembered that it was difficult to keep up with other bikes on the highway. He had promptly acquired a baby ninja weeks ago, the day after he discovered that Eve had one. He had a route all planned out--it involved riding next to the water, a couple bridges, and at least two tunnels that most people did not know about. The tunnels were one of the most exciting places he'd gone on two wheels, and he was hoping they were exciting enough to charm the pants off a girl. Or, at least her shirt. Unfortunately, he had little time to agonize over the details of his ever evolving dating plans, or bask in the endorphins that had begun flooding his brain. He had work to do.
Eve had gone out of her way a certain bar to celebrate her graduating the safety class. It was the same bar she had gotten in a fight at. Subconsciously, she was hoping to see Biff. She left the pink jumpsuit at home and took two buses instead of Carby, hoping that no one there would recognize her. No one did. Biff wasn't there. She drank alone, fending off disguised mating requests, and then went home, lonely, and beginning to think that she needed to start dating again. She had no prospects, though.
Meanwhile, Dave was down in the Watermark, or just the Mark, one of the heavily (and heavily abandoned) industrial areas that was prone to chronic flooding, having been poorly positioned too low next to the river. Dwindling blue collar jobs, raves, parkour, and staging areas for the occasional professional crime were all common in the Mark.
Dave rode one of his other motorcycles, a crusty old naked sportbike with a fake license plate with one of the letters deliberately bent in an attempt to foil automated traffic cameras. Tonights club was a multi level deal with a temporary license. It served house and hip hop on the first floor, 80's and dance on the second floor, and very decent (but not great) techno on the top floor, where cloudy windows. Trisha and Elena were waiting for him.
"One of his friends just texted me," said Trisha. "He will be here tonight, but maybe later."
"Cool. I'll take the top floor. Text me if you see him first," said Dave. He slid them each a wad of cash when they were inside. "Have a good time"
Notes:
controllers deliberately play with the yellow light times to increase red light tickets
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