Harley Davidson Boots Kept Us Moving
We where close to three hundred miles from El Paso, hadn’t closed our eyes in almost three days, and at last count, we were hunted in three states and eleven counties. Would you believe me, if I said we were innocent. Well, don’t then. At this place I can’t blame you. Looking in at this complete situation, it would be hard to expect someone to believe us.
But listen, not to be short, I have other things on my brain. Sherrie was pretty bad off and I wasn’t in the best condition either. We were close to out of gas, out of places to stay, and I had about twenty eight dollars and some coinage, and a mean fever. Not to mention my Harley Davidson boots were wearing through at the heel and ankle. I need some new ones quick.
I turned into this local pub, it appeared like a place we would blend in nicely, bikes parked around the place like you might imagine in some movie or something. peeking from the saddle bags of one of the hogs was, what appeared 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 fast. I knew a bunch of these biker packs had there own doctors, for pains 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 remain 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.