Red Vespa

Sometimes I think of giving it all up, buying a Vespa, and moving to Italy.

On a sunny and glorious Italian evening, I take the streets on my new, polished Vespa and get hit by a car.

Vespa is severely damaged, I, on the other hand, get taken to the hospital, unconscious. The doctors do all they can to save my life.

Miraculously, I survive but fall into a deep coma.

Meanwhile, my cat, whom I have cared for since he fell from the eighth floor (lost his leg, but not his life) moves on. He finds a new woman who is not in a coma and moves in with her, never thinking of me since.

After three months I get out of the coma, but I have total amnesia.

My memory is one blank 404 page. Strangers show up, some call themselves my mother, my sibling, others my friends and ex-lovers. Some say I am a toxic, jealous bitch, others claim that I am too soft, passive, and a pushover. I have zero interest in what they have to say, I don’t know them and have no emotional attachment to these strangers.

They tell me my nationality, my age, my place of employment, religion, sexuality, my preferences, and my direction in life. But I don’t buy it. My horizon is a grand infinity pool, with countless possibilities.

I check out of the hospital secretly, disguised as a battered prostitute. In my bra, I have securely stored cash taken out from the credit card that supposedly has my name on it. But I don’t buy it. I will have a new name now.

On the corner, I take a taxi.

"Where to "? Asks the grim driver

Firmly and gloriously, I announce,

" To the train station !"

Ooh, a fresh start.

Sometimes I think of buying a hot red Vespa.