This Place is not Real Life.

Bike Week. A biker’s dream. A transplant’s worse nightmare. *Sigh *

You’re right, John. It’s not “fun and glamorous.”

John says no!

Serious question, John, have you seen these people? I took 12 pictures of all the half-naked ladies standing next to “hot leather” signs, while shooting whiskey just to be able to deal with the smell of falafel and gasoline.

Now, I am not judging, but if you don’t live here, you can’t comment. I’m not saying they all have mother or father issues. Some will throw their cans of Budlight as close to a trashcan as their lack of soberness permits. Some will even offer you one. Or, dance to ACDC with you while you swear, for a second, you kind of fit in with your clean, untapered jeans and midriff entirely covered. Maybe, in another life, we could have joined forces.

I’m grateful that while I continue to pass actual street signs like “Be safe, ride quietly” and have them be completely ignored, have my windows shake uncontrollably and avoid every corner of town that has a Hooters, I can continue to collect snapshots of this chapter of my life. I swear to everything holy, in a few years, without documentation, I won’t believe the stuff I encounter.

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