Second Hand Smoke

[askmrjesus]

I went down to my local "Bike Night" last night. It's not your typical squids on GXSR's trying to pick up Hooters waitresses bike night, more of a bunch of old dudes on vintage bikes and dual sports kind of a thing. Weird crowd. Interesting mix.

We meet up at a micro brewery in the seedy part of town. Nothing fancy. Good beer, pretzels with stone ground mustard, ugly women. The bar is in a converted industrial building, with a big roll up door at the front. In the summer they leave the door open, so you can gaze out at the landscape of weed encrusted pavement, and the peeling paint of the abandoned building across the street. I like it there.

I'm having a beer and a smoke with a few of my riding buds out on the sidewalk, when a dude I've seen around a few times come out of the bar, and jumps on a semi-kinda almost street-legal KTM two-stroke, that's parked in front of the big roll up door. He fires the thing up about 6 feet from a table of non-descript khaki wearing tourists, and proceeds to wring the fucking shit out it.

At first I'm thinking, Ok, you made your point, time to move along. But no, Mr. Blipie isn't done yet. He keeps whacking the throttle like he's expecting fucking nickles to come out the back end. He's pumped enough smoke into the bar to hide a goddamn battle ship. The folks inside are starting to get pissed. The chorus of "Hey, Asshole!", is falling on deaf ears. He's oblivious. The bar folk start throwing mustard covered pretzels at him. He has about 5 of them stuck to the back of his jacket, but he's still whacking that damn throttle.

I was just about to say something to him, when the barmaid came out, and yelled "Hey! Dickweed! You're smoking us to death in here!".

His reply?

"I know, it smokes a lot when the choke is on!"

Really?

No shit.

JC