Adam Bonhaven rode his Harley south on I-95 headed for Miami and a lot of fun in the sun. His dark hair streamed out on the wind. The warm sunshine reached right down to his soul while the haunting melody of a Kansas tune played in his mind. Life was good. Mile maker thirteen flew by; no hurry; he’d get there. A sparkling fleck of dust blown from the roadside hit Adam’s eye. Instinctively, be blinked back the irritation and tried to brush it away.
The Harley swerved. Still fighting the dust in his eye, Adam over corrected. The big bike laid on its side pinning Adam’s leg and dragging him across the asphalt. The trucker following Adam slammed on his brakes, but not in time for Adam to escape. The truck jack-knifed across three lanes of traffic taking out a minivan and a church bus before coming to rest in the grass. Traffic along I-95 backed up for miles as police and fire-rescue cleared the bodies.
No man lives to himself and no man dies to himself. Dust we may be and to dust we return, but no life is insignificant.
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