ON THE ROAD

You're sitting there in the bar's half-light, and slowly you become aware of a drone cutting through the music and conversation, a drone with more than a touch of growl in it, widening, getting richer, more complex, as it gets louder. Hum the bass note, go ahead, hum it to yourself, and listen to the other parts working together in harmony, the polyrhythms of machinery until they're right outside: ENGINE ENGINE ENGINE ENGINE ahhhh...

Now, and only now, is it cool to cock your head a bit towards the window to see the scoots starting their easy rest on the chromed kickstand, front forks extended lazily and arrogantly in a reluctant concession to the laws of physics.

And they don't hear how loud the door is when they slam it open because they've been atop those things for miles — a full run or just a putt, it makes no difference really. They walk into the bar, heavy boots on the floor, things clanking.. .