Would anyone but me find it strange to see a completely leathered lone male ripping around the foothills on his high-powered dirt bike at 9 a.m. on a Thursday morning? Not a sixteen year-old ditching class; clearly a fully developed man. No hot chicks in bikinis waiting to spray him with sparkling wine at the finish line. No group of mulleted friends to share high-fives with after tabletopping off a boulder or an unsuspecting cow. Probably not even a can of Cristal back in his truck. No, only a leather-clad stormtrooper with a machine under his crotch spinning solitary circles in the dirt first thing in the morning. The sight of him made me a little sad.
He didn't buzz me as they often do when the hordes of them swarm the hills on the weekend, kicking up dirt and rocks as they blow by me and the dogs. I don't even think he saw me as I slowly plodded by. And, he would probably find it equally strange to exert so much energy to run to the tops of hills only to run back down them, heart pounding, head spinning, lungs heaving, when you could much more easily fly to the top with a simple flick of the wrist. So, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure he was just out for a breath of fresh
My source of truth and inspiration tells me not to criticize what I can't understand. Ok, fine, Bob. I apologize. I certainly don't understand. Nine a.m.? Thursday morning? Alone? ¿Por qué?
No Age: Neck Escaper.mp3 from Weirdo Rippers. Website, Buy
Oh No! Oh My!: The Party Punch.mp3 from Between the Devil and the Sea. Website, Buy
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