Unholy hour

Tokyo, 2am. Dark and silent. The devil, your conscience, brings you to. He runs through the plan with you one more time, then you begin to rise from your bed. You're careful not to disturb sleeping beauty beside you. You zip up your jeans, pull on a t-shirt and head down to the garage. The key slots into the ignition...it's been a while. Your rust-ridden Yamaha shudders like a sick child, angry at you for waking it in this unholy hour. You chug on through deserted streets, the odd stream of light trailing off in the distance, some late-night workers sit slurping ramen in an off-beat noodle bar. The air is muggy and hot. It's a twenty minute ride to the riverbank and you're thinking "is this pile of crap gonna hold out?"...it does. The riverbank is pitch black. You turn off the engine and roll down to the water's edge. The moon watches you from above. A few birds flutter off to the right, disturbed by your presence. Mild fear gnaws at your stomach. "So this is it" you say in a low voice, "the moment of truth". You edge the bike over the concrete wall, the water below is placid and deep. You make one last check, and you let go. The water swells and swallows the rusty bike with a large gulp, bubbles rise and pop at the surface. You step back, light a cigarette and begin the long journey home.