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

dead now and so am I. Paint it pink.

I looked up from the paper. At the bikers on ladders. At the bright pink paint slowly covering the house I grew up in.

“Who are you people?” I whispered.

“We’re the Monday crew,” he said. “Your mama fed us lunch every Monday for eleven years. And we took care of whatever she needed.”

I had no idea. I didn’t know any continue reading …