When I went `bump in the night'

It was a hard day's night and I was as sleepy as a log (not to mention as hungry as a hog) and I really wanted to get back home to my cozy little bed... and well, the leftovers kept in the refrigerator.
Dame luck had been positively grinning at me throughout my office hours and I had made a reasonable cute little page for the newspaper I work for ... the News Editor had complimented me (for once) and all was well with the world.
I had no idea what a bitch the stupid dame could be sometimes. Coz that's what lady luck is. Smiling like Pocahontas one moment and smirking demonically the other.
So I jumped on my trusty ol' horse (that's my cute li'l motorcycle) and took off through the streets.
It was 2:00 am in the morning (that's when my office lets me out), there was a cool night wind blowing across town (well, mine's actually a city .. but town reads better. heh) and I was in lovely spirits. And as usual, there was a good ol' tune reverberating in my head (think it was Lucille, Cant remember) and I was positively feeling like Superman.
I pumped up on the gas and my bike purred satisfactorily in return. Wow. And like the wind I flew, beyond all cares, sorrows and whatever else plagues 'em poor mortals.
There were no policemen around, no jaywalkers to make me ease my pace ... and no Shain behind me to yell: HEY HEY ... YOU GONNA GET US KILLED, YOU MANIAC!
I closed my eyes, feeling the wind beat against my face ... the ground rip by under me ...
Something had to bring me back to earth. It sure did, and how!
It was a barricade; something that the idiot traffic cops in my city keep on the middle of the road to slow regular speeding dolts and kill the more drunk ones.
I did not notice it until it was too late. And too late was just about three seconds before I took a shot at Davey Jones' locker. The barricade was a long iron piece of wrought iron, about five feet in length and four in height. It was a dirty yellow in colour and there were large letters in blood red painted on it: PLEASE GO SLOW. SPEED KILLS.
Nice advice. Right. But I got it quite late in the hour, you must admit.
I hit the barricade with a dull thud and for a moment, everything went blank ... and then I could feel myself flying.
Flying, yeah. But not the way I wanted to. I was superman for about five seconds, until I found myself hitting the ground with a muffled splat.
Amd there was my dear ol' horsie .... scraping away from me at fifty miles an hour, lighting its trail with sparks.
The world was spinning around me. The stars were not shining that bright anymore, the cold air seemed more annoying than romantic.... and the barrier was slowly tilting - losing its balance... and about to fall on me.
With the last of my energy I jumped out of the way and the dumb piece of scrap metal came crashing down ... right where I had landed.
Reality took some time to dawn. Ask my friends, I m slow (and they kinda remind me about it all the time) but on that very occasion I was acting like I had finally lost my noodle. I crawled my way to the side of the road and squatted like a dummy, looking desolately at my poor ol' vehicle - tough boy that it was, brought to the ground by a discoloured piece of metal and an idiot who mistook himself for Kal-El.
A couple of cars whizzed by, scarcely interested in whatever circussy stuff I seemed to be putting up.
Finally, I found my bearings and pulled my bike back to its feet. A large dent featured on its left side and paint had peeled off from quite a few places. Me? Even my bruises had bruises.
Tamely, I sat on it. The engine purred back to life and the headlights came on.
It was alive. Wounded, maybe ... but alive, nevertheless.
I mouthed a silent prayer to God and started off into the night again.
A lot slower this time, though.