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

by boxes. I woke up at 4 AM to the sound of something scraping against the outside wall.

I looked through the window and my heart nearly stopped.

There were motorcycles lining the street. At least nine of them. And there were men on ladders. On the porch. Along the side of the house. In the dark. With work lights clamped to sawhorses.

They were painting continue reading …