Page 104 - Leather Blues

92 Jack Fritscher

Chuck pushed his thick moustache against Denny’s upper
lip and whispered, “Chicago’s sounding pretty good.” Denny
chewed on Chuck’s moustache and whispered back. “And
California’s sounding even better.”
There wasn’t much sleep for them that night.
Arising in the last hour of darkness, before the others
stirred about the farm site, they gathered up their gear, loaded
both bikes into the van, and with the gold-bright dawn warm
on their backs, they pursued their mutual shadow westward.

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