We were approximately one hundred miles from El Paso, hadn’t closed our eyes in almost two days, and at last count, we were wanted in three states and eleven counties. Would you believe me, if I said we were not guilty. Well, don’t then. At this place I won’t blame you. Looking in at this whole situation, it would be trying to expect someone to believe us.
But listen, not to be short, I got other things on my mind. Sherrie was pretty hurt and I wasn’t in the best way either. We were just about out of gas, out of places to rest, and I possessed close to twenty eight big ones and some small stuff, and a bad fever. Not to mention these Harley Davidson boots were wearing through at the heel and ankle. I need some new ones quick.
I headed into this local pub, it looked like a place we would blend in good, bikes parked around the place like you would imagine in some movie or something. Peeking from the saddle bags of one of the hogs was, what seemed could be a pair of Harley Davidson boots. I’d think about that on the way out, if we made it out.
Queenie, that was what I called Sherrie, needed a doctor soon. I knew most of these biker groups had there own doctors, for injuries and such that couldn’t be treated at the local hospital. It might just be wishful thinking, but we where desperate. Queenie woke up, just as we pulled into the parking lot. How she could stay on the back of my bike, being that wounded and sound asleep was a mystery to me, but she did it like it wasn’t a problem at all.
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