About a month ago, I bought a beautiful blue suede and chrome Harley Davidson Road King. Initially, this was a looking bike, not a riding bike. I stared at it a lot. After a week of so, I actually decided to take it out and ride it. It does everything I ask of it. If only God made women this beautiful and obedient- life would be perfect. Free of divorce court. Blissful and serene.
Each day, during my travels, I run into this goofy kid. He's 21. He is a representative slice of Americana. He doesn't know anything about politics, money, or central bank crooks. Like most twenty one year olds he is preoccupied with only a few things. Getting loaded, slutty older chicks with tattoos, and unfortunately- one 2007 blue suede Road King.
Last week, the goofball asks me how old I am and I tell him that I am 50. He says he was watching an episode of Beavis and Butthead. On that particular episode he said, Beavis and Butthead had decided to be kind to old people that were about to die. That way, they surmised, when these old people died they would leave them money and stuff for all of the kind acts and chores that they did for them before they croaked. So the goofball loves the Road King. Each day he asks me if he can come to my house and do some chores. Then he laughs like a hyena. Today he sat on the bike smoking a cigarette and asked if he could start it. I told him to get the fuck off the bike.
Maybe, I tell his smart ass, I will outlive you. He doesn't laugh as hysterically when I say that.
I gotta tell ya. I like that goofy kid. There's a tremendous amount of innocence about not worrying about anything except what that slutty chick with the high heels might be wearing today. I remember being that stupid and harmless once. Come to think of it, I kind of liked it.
Maybe like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino, I will leave him the Road King. Maybe I will have him come over tomorrow and haul some firewood into the basement. Next to the stove. Neatly stacked. Maybe I can talk him into this for the next 30 years or so.