Thunder and lightning suddenly burst out of the sky. The bikers were forced to pull into the
restaurant’s parking lot. They all ran
inside to get out of the storm.
The restaurant was quiet.
The only people in the joint were a bunch of old ladies with big
hats. The bikers sat at the bar and checked
the hat ladies out. The ladies were all
dressed in red. Maybe they were retired
prostitutes. Maybe this was a union
meeting for retired female Canadian Mounties.
Maybe today was a red letter day.
The bikers thought the ladies were strange.
The restaurant had a juke box and a dance floor. One of the bikers put money in the juke
box. When the music started he went over
to one of the red hats and asked her to dance.
She looked aghast!
Her mouth dropped open, but when the biker took her hand she
rose to dance, automatically. She still
didn’t close her mouth as they danced.
Another biker asked another red hatted lady to dance, but
her head shook “No,” as her eyes opened in large circles. So the biker just stayed and talked. Actually, he was showing her his
tattoos. The red hat kept dipping in
appreciative understanding.
Another red hat joined the dance floor. And another…and another.
I think the red hats liked the hairy, muscled, tattooed,
earring, bandanna, bikers.
And the bikers still couldn’t figure out why these old dames
were all wearing red. They asked the red
hats, but for some unexplainable reason, they were all rendered speechless.
Eventually, the thunderstorm passed. The bikers finished their beers, and they started
to say their goodbyes. The red hats
walked out to say goodbye, but also to look at their “hogs.”
The bikers invited some of the red hatted ladies for a ride,
and the ladies obliged.
And that’s the last the red hats saw of their friends. They rode on the backs of the Harleys, skirts
up over their knees, one hand around the thick middle of a biker, and the other
hand holding onto a red hat--and into
the sunset they rode.
