Her arms around his waist, he felt so solid, her anchor, her rock, her reason for being. They soared through life on the back of his prized vintage Indian, the roar and vibration of the engine flooding her with recent memories of his touch of their completion to ecstasy back home.

She shook her head, mentally dislodging the old and focussing on the new. She revved the engine, torquing it in an effort to blow out the carbon and the memories. It had been a long time...now he was gone, forever. She made sure her fiddle case was secure across her back and let out the clutch. Gotta get a fix, gotta get a fix...off to meet those 'cats in 3D, after all these years of cyberjamming!