"Faster," she whispers in my ear. Startled, I roll off the throttle. "Faster," she says again. Confused, I check my three, my six, and my nine. Nothing. Am I hearing things? There is no “she” with me. I am alone, on my motorcycle. "Faster..." she says a third time, her throaty exhortation tailing off to an implied "or else!" A little spooked, I accelerate hard and try to outrun the strange disembodied voice, riding a wave a torque as I rocket out of the city on the first rays of a new day. "Yes. Yes! YES!" she responds. The New York City skyline gets smaller in my mirrors.