Tyler finally noticed me. I’m 6’3”, 240 pounds, leather vest with decades of patches, gray beard down to my chest. I look like exactly what I am—an old biker who doesn’t back down.
“Yeah? Mind your business, old man. This is my girlfriend and my car. I don’t need your charity.” He yanked her toward the car. “Get in. Now.”
She obeyed, but I stepped in front of the door. “I don’t think she wants to go with you.”Continue reading…
