'cause i don't want to play with such a price to pay;
She hadn't intended to stay out that late with Mike and the boys -- but when the Denver Broncos entered the conversation, Connie found it kind of difficult to call it a night. One beer turned into beer and a pizza. And then another pizza. And then some take out. And then, well, if they were going to sit there in front of Mike's new plasma TV, then obviously they had to check it out by watching some college ball. It was only natural, really.

Needless to say that, by the time Connie swung a jean-clad leg over her motorcycle, she was full and very, very happy. The engine purred under her and she leaned easily into a turn, the streetlights reflecting sharply off of the mirrored visor of her helmet. She rolled smoothly through downtown, finally stopping at a red light. The car next to her idled, rumbling so low that she could feel it through her boots.

She felt the explosion, too.

Suddenly, that stopped car was screeching sideways, rolled over by the blast from the building that had just had its front lobby blown out -- Connie shouted behind her helmet and gunned the engine of her bike, but too late. The car clipped her before she could pass it, sending her spinning into the intersection. She gave the handlebars a wrench, tried to keep herself on two wheels, but the motorcycle had other ideas; when it came down on her leg, she both heard and felt her knee crunch. Connie howled around the cacophony of blaring car horns and curled into herself as the sound of screeching tires got louder.

[narrative; closed]