A deep sigh broke the desert silence.
“Call me old fashioned…“ Said the tall, dark figure to no one in particular. “…but I kinda miss the old days.”
It watched the smoke from the cigarette lazily crawl up towards the full moon, remembering.
Simple kids would come here craving simple dreams. Sing, dance, play the guitar… A key to fame for just your soul was a bargain to them.
Orange bits of burning ash danced in the air as the cigarette hit the pavement.
Ten past midnight.
Nobody had shown up.
Time to go.
“Well, that’s what happens when all everybody wants is to rule the world.” Thought the man in mirror-shades and snakeskin boots. The price may be the same, but at least those foolish kids brought some joy to the world.
The huge black and chrome Harley roared into the night, away from the forgotten desert crossroads.
He would always be here full moon, waiting… but maybe there just weren’t any kids with foolish dreams left.