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me take you home?”
    I froze and gripped my bags. He was right, though. It was time to make a decision.
    Carefully, I climbed onto his bike, squirming inside. I fumbled around, trying to find something to hold on to.
    Thrash just grabbed my hands and wrapped them under his arms, around his torso.
    Heat rose into my cheeks as I felt that unique firmness of thick muscle and the lightest, divine layer of flesh. Some people liked a lean, ripped body. And that was good. Some men and women were built that way. They were beautiful, and I knew how to sketch them. But when I really sat down and thought about what I liked… When I paid attention to what I wanted to feel and taste and become a part of, what I found was this: I wanted that complex interplay of flesh and bone and muscle.
    Every person had a type or two that drove them wild, and mine was looking at me from his perch upon that bike.
    I wanted it all, those eyes, that body, its subtle changes and every movement...
    I’d been aware of this man for days, but it really hit me then how much I wanted to not only paint him... I wanted to do a lot of things with him.
    Instead, I stayed still, perched behind him as he revved the engine to life. And then we began to move, and the sheer excitement of the unknown distracted me from anything but the sights around me.
    “You need to wrap your arms around me. Keep them tight.”
    I nodded. Before I could lose my nerve, he revved up that bike and took off down the street, going slowly at first. The rumble of his motorcycle echoed against the buildings.
    The way the wind wrapped around my body was alien enough to make me cling for safety, but holding onto him, that pushed it over the top. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as he increased his speed, turning down Fourth Street. I nearly screamed as we tilted and sped down the steep hill. We were so exposed! The drop nearly tore me from the bike.
    As I started to lose my grip on him, he grabbed my hand with one of his and pulled it tighter against his chest.
    Maybe it was the adrenaline – or maybe it was the threat of road burn and broken bones. Whatever the case, I forgot about my pride then. I gripped him and leaned into his back. I let him be in control.
    And that was when it hit me. What I was the most afraid of was someone else in control.
    I took a few steadying breaths. They didn’t do much, but it gave me the room to remember that everything would be fine. Braddock wasn’t that big. I would be home soon, my feet back on the ground, my body under my own control.
    As for my pride? Well, I had climbed on the bike. I could lean on a man long enough to get home on it in one piece.
    When I realized where we were, I gasped with relief. Two lefts and I would be exactly where I needed to be.
    So when he took a right, I baulked. “Where are we going?” I screamed into the wind, dragging at his cut.
    “Scenic route!”
    He took a left down a side road on the flats of Braddock. We entered the neighborhood next to the Mon. It was dotted with small shops, empty factories, and houses.
    It was a run-down area, but it really was beautiful, too: desolate and broken, houses falling in on themselves, shingles falling from houses, windows shattered. It was a glimpse into a world destroyed by outsourcing and the march of time. So much sadness. So much memory...
    For the first time, I began to appreciate the ride. Being on the motorcycle made the sight feel so immediate and yet so fleeting. I could feel the cool wind of the ocean. I didn’t just see the desolation. I felt it. Experienced it.
    I kept holding tight, but I was no longer afraid.
    This was what I lived for. Experiences. Feeling. I had needed to be so careful lately…
    Thrash made a left and then a right, and I saw the co-op. It was a large studio, an entire floor devoted to housing. It was my home now. It was also where I lost all of my individuality.
    It was a peculiar sensation, blending in, becoming part of the hoard. I felt safe.