I used to hang out at a Hells Angel bar. Used to go see bands in a record store and when my throat got a little dry I’d head around the corner for a beer. So I’d hang with the Angels. They had better beer. Got a little tense in there a couple times but at least I didn’t have to drink Miller. The place eventually got shut down for beatings and murder and drug deals, but that was later. By then I was hanging at a pool hall run by bikers. They booked bands, too. Big biker goons running security. I saved a guitar player from getting his teeth kicked in one night. He’d had a fit, smashed his guitar and chucked the body clear across the hall where it destroyed a lighting fixture. Sparks and glass everywhere. Luckily he missed the pool tables. When he split stage left two or three bikers were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. I was overdressed and big myself and rushed between them, laying down a bogus lawyer rap. Said if they laid a hand on him I’d sue. Said it again. They backed off. Got him the hell out of there so fast. As we drove off they were outside, giving us death stares. Not long afterward another biker gang torched the joint to get even with somebody inside. They did too, burned him to a crisp. A bad scene. Great bar, though. I miss that place.


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  1. Pingback: Machine Gun | Brick Wahl

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