44
Out Of Time
The Yamaha was a beast. Unlike anything I’d ever stolen before, hitting 100mph in an eye-blink and hugging corners like a hippie hugs trees.
The dawn streets were quiet by Mexico City standards. I flew through a line of reds, across a large intersection, drawing angry honks from a smattering of crossing traffic.
We soon hit a ramp onto a three-lane highway circling the city. I weaved between early morning commuters, following the signs for the airport, knowing the airfield was only a few miles before it.
A red band of light wrapped itself around the horizon, melting into emerald-green and then a navy-blue as the sun rose to the east.
The sight of a distant passenger plane rising into the sky filled me with a renewed sense of hope. But I had to ride fast. Had to weave a
