dream - 1o2o24: first ride out

'First ride out, I'm done,' I think, settling the immense two-handed tablet into its rack on the back of the scooter.  Of course it's not my equipment, and it's not my scooter, but the damned thing cranks when I settle in, and it rides as naturally as any bike I've ever straddled, so I coast 'round the serpentine curves of Gulf Shores swampland, wondering 'Was that, at last, the last I'll ever see Victor?'

Slowing to pause as our flock approaches the traffic stop, a rider in the adjacent lane reaches over and extracts the tablet from its saddle on the rear of "my" scooter.  He seems to've mistaken my equipment for his own, which is missing.  I don't dissuade him so much as bluntly state, "That's mine, by the way," while we all wait for the border cops to do their inspection.  The brunette rider with a military buzz gives me a dull thud of an appraising glance as he intones, "Sure."

He's having his shoes confiscated minutes later.  As the cops clap the soles together, knocking loose mud, he rattles his cuffs and wishes me luck.  Yanking the tablet by its handles from his scooter, re-seating it onto my stolen vehicle, I thank him:  "Best to you, too, on your first ride out."