A biker pulled up to his old waterin hole..Hadn't been round much for a long while. The room wasn't quite as smokey, the music was not as familiar. There were bikes parked out side, sure, but most were newer. Most had less miles and though carrying the same brand. looked "different" to him. There were few faces that he recognised. The owner was still the same guy, but he wasn't around much either, works a second job to keep the old waterin' hole afloat...sentimental reasons he figured.

The conversation was mostly folks he barely recognised, jokin among them selves. And it seemed hard to get a word in edgewise bout bikin an ridin an wrenchin. "Sides, all them new bikes aint hardly broke in yet., much less needin fixin, and they were parked out front so who was ridin anyway? The old biker stepped up and shouted, OK! How come you aint talkin bout ridin? All i hear is jokes! So the new folks,sat still and listened bout ridin and showed some pics of their trips around...but the peace an quiet grew a little uneasy. A few folks thought that since they already knew all about their friends rides,it seemed a shame they had to only talk about each others bikes. So they begun to joke among them selves again. the old biker was quick losein his sense of humor though, and said , Dammit, This here place was better when the old guys was here! You new folks got no heart! Well there's no arguing with that cause there's no way to become one of the original guys from the watering hole, so sadly , one by one, they all found a different place to meet and share some humor and suport their friends in their own way.

The old biker found himself alone most days, as the rest of the old crew had somehow moved on too, and never really came back cept for an ocassional visit. Why? WHY? the old biker thought to himself, has no one got any heart any more? I dont like all them jokes, I dont like them new bikes, and Idont like them new folks. But no one answered his unspoken thoughts. The folk with new bikes and no heart and humor he couldnt appreciate, were long gone too.

One day the biker,having waited for all the old folks to return,and having driven off any possible new friends, found he couldnt stand the silence any more and scrawled a note on the chalkboard by the bar. It read..." I WAS ONLY TRYING TO MAKE A POINT!" then he shot himself dead on the floor of his beloved watering hole.

In examining the body the coroners only statement to the press when asked about the cause of death was..." It looks to me like a hollow point."
12-97
Mongrel
May not be reused without written permission of author.