Bikers Were Painting My Dead Mother’s House Pink At 4AM And I Didn’t Know Any Of Them

She’d stocked this kitchen knowing she was dying. Knowing someone would need it eventually.

I made rice and beans. Found a bag of frozen chicken in the freezer. It wasn’t my mother’s cooking. But I put it on the table with plates and silverware, and nine bikers sat down in my mother’s kitchen and ate.

They told me stories while we ate. About my mother.continue reading …