It was supposed to be a gag gift, I know that. I was retiring, and my son bought me a leather jacket for my “retirement motorcycle” which we had always joked about. I put it on at the party, and I quickly realized it was used–he’d probably bought it at the goodwill or something–he wasn’t doing the best financially, and it’s the thought that counts, right?

Well, I mean, I put it on, and wore it the whole night–it was just really comfortable, and to be honest…well…I didn’t really want to take it off. I mean, I did, at first, but before long, well…I was just kind of wearing it all the time. But it didn’t really look good with any of my clothing, so I just started cruising around second hand stores, and it was like…like the jacket knew what I should buy to wear with it, and everything I bought, fuck, I just wore it constantly. I mean, it almost hurt, physically, to take it off.

And now…fuck, now I mean…now I’ve actually got the motorcycle–a beat up Harley off Craigslist. And I’m cutting my hair and beard different–it just looks better with the jacket, you know? And sure, the cigars aren’t healthy, but they just complete the look. And…and I know, I know that I would look best at…at one of the gay leather bars downtown, I know that, I really do, it’s just…I mean, maybe I could just go and have a drink? I mean, sure, it would look great if I picked up some leather cub, and we drove off into the backcountry and fucked on the back of my bike–I bet my jacket would look real good if I was doing that…but…

Oh fuck it…I’d better just go get my helmet.

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