bike week nite

8 march, 1996

bike week nite
I resist television
shit
and leave for the purring road
the ever present roar
surf and cylinder
cruise down the strip
neon roar
dead animal skin
and machines
pull off and park near a beach
walking

it is bitter cold

(I thought this was florida!)
empty car streets lined with motorcycles
aged and state of the art
they are all loud
when their owners sit
and rev
and roar
for twenty minutes
bang pop and swell
amongst the black and bike consumers
there are some truly leathered souls.
guys you pass
an instant whiff of the road
of being deeply fucked with
and rejecting a whole lot of shit
one such is even pleasant
larry, from York, PA

wandering the strip
commodity fetishism,
black t-shirts
leather goods
plush biker pig stuffed animals

I arrive at a bar
still cold,
we wait on the street
for access
to Froggies

we leave for the bank bar
the razorbacks are playing
crazy pompadour
shooter girls
in leather chaps and g-strings
pouring shots
into the band members mouths
I meet Natalia, from Argentina
slender, with aqualine features
she's a beautiful bold aries
distributor for Diesel clothing
I kind of want to get with her
she seems to want to get with me
but she's with her friends
and the music's too loud to talk
so we drift apart
G urges me
if I get near her
he'll take a picture
fuck that covert shit

we are to the old school
the Boot Hill saloon
bras hanging from the ceiling
closes right before we get there
G immediately hails a cab
on to the next thing
down a layer of lurid
"bottle clubs" and red light districts

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