Get Your Motor Running

I was driving down the highway the other day (In fact I was rushing back to the office from an interview) when I was passed by a grizzled octogenarian dressed entirely in black leather on his custom Harley. He had a cigarette held tightly between his lips, black sunglasses, and a few days growth of facial hair. His biker jacket proclaimed the "gang" he belonged to. Clearly this was a man who had kicked some ass in his day and probably still kicked ass on a semi-regular basis.

He was moving at a good clip down the road and I sped up a little to keep up with him. I was sure to stay back a bit so he wouldn't spot me. I didn't want to anger him and come home to find his gang in my front yard destroying what few valuables I own and holding my family hostage. I was curious about what sort of mission would have him out in the afternoon daylight moving with such urgency. Possibly he was hunting down some sort of bounty that was trying to skip town. Or maybe he was transporting information on some heist his crew was about to pull off. Or what seemed most likely, he was probably trying to catch up with some police convoy to free one of the members of his gang in some uber-violent manner.

Suddenly the elderly biker swerved hard to the right and slammed his brakes. It was on! I slowed in eager anticipation of the ass whooping that I was about to get to witness. The biker was clearly agitated. Not wanting to come to a complete stop in the highway I craned my neck around while still driving to see what had garnered this solitary warrior's violent reaction. The cigarette had apparently fallen out of his mouth and gotten stuck in the crotch of his jeans. He was now slapping at it furiously trying to get it out and end the burning.

All I could think as I drove on was how well practiced he looked at slapping at his crotch while driving his bike. What a bad ass.