They were knee-high with a tiny, little heel; I'd bought them during a retail therapy afternoon with Rhiannon and Adele and had hardly worn them. As I zipped them up the length of my calves, Adam handed me my leather jacket. I eyed the piece of clothing warily. It was late May on the Island and too warm for a coat."Trust me?" he asked as he noticed my sceptical expression. He helped me into my coat. "And this is for you." He handed me the shining black motorcycle helmet which he'd brought in with the flowers; I'd forgotten all about it. My knees shook. Satisfied at my appearance, Adam pulled me out the front door, laughing as I closed it behind me without locking it; no one really locks their doors on the Island."What do you think?" he crowed proudly as he stood on the sidewalk outside of my apartment and gestured towards the street. Parked at the curb was a huge motorcycle, bright red and black with miles of shining chrome. I took a step back towards the house."It's a 1965 Triumph. I slumped sadly into my office chair and swivelled to face my computer. Iloaded it up and the beep signifying my metal box stirring into actionpierced the depressing and lonely silence of my morning. As the monitorwhirred, clicked and fizzed into action I did what all of us have done inour time on this Earth at some point. I thought about how I could waste mytime on the Internet. I have plenty of ways of wasting my time on the Internet usually whichI've already described - chatrooms, personals, pictures, porn, naughtystories and so on. Sadly all of these had one common denominator - theywere all to do with Sara. And on that day that was not the best of ideas. I browsed around a fewgaming sites, thought about cheering myself up with a DVD spree on EBay(but remembered I wasn't that well off), read a few of the BBC newsarticles and did some online quizzes. Amazingly this mind-melting activitytook up a good three hours. I leaned back in my economy chair and thoughtabout how to waste my.
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