Coffee

Part Seven: MG43MD Meets SuperGirl35

Standing in front of my full length mirror, I stare at my attire from head to toe. With two red and white extensions in my hair, which is in a high pony tail, I admire the mermaid hair and how nicely it is complimented by my crimson painted lips and dark sparkly eyeshadow. My dangling spike earrings give off that punk rock kind of vibe: and overall image of what I used to dress like outside of catholic school. My shirt is tucked in the front of my white ripped jeans: I'm being brave tonight with white at a coffee shop.

To tie everything together, I have on my black heels that have the red bottom to them. They give me the height I need, but are impractical if I have to flee the horror scene. I would normally wear my black converse, but who wants to be 5'3 standing briefly next to someone who is 6'1?

Not I!

All night, I felt sick to my stomach about today. Fairly certain I gave myself an ulcer. But I digress.

My nerves are shot and I'm unprepared for what's going to take place. I can see him now just being pissed off and storming out of the building.

5:25.

I should probably head out to Brooklyn to meet the poor bastard. Ruin his whole night. Taking one last look at myself, I can barely stand it. This is going to ruin everything. It's going to change, everything, and then some.

Grabbing my clutch, I head downstairs and leave my home- locking the door as I go. Walking down my narrow driveway, I open up my garage door and smile widely at my baby. Tugging on my leather jacket, I zip it up- snag my full face black metallic helmet and hop on my 1969 Triumph T-120-R Chopper with ape hangers, custom painted in a deep purple that from a far looks black, but up close it sparkles and shines with a passionate purple that leaves you wanting something more than just a bike between your legs. When I first showed her to Lauren- she simply said

"Oh, so it's just a purple Daryl Dixon SS bike."

To which I replied.

"It's a Triumph T120 Chopper."

"But it looks exactly like Daryl Dixon's first bike in the walking dead...but a deep purple and you're not supporting the Nazis."

I had to simply agree with her to get her to shut up about it. Walking over to my baby, I kick up the stand, roll her out and hit the garage door button as I hope on and ride my way to what will be my doom. Though, I'm a safe driver- I will admit that when it comes to backed up traffic- I will bob and weave my way around it. Everyone does it- so I'm not alone in the scandal...but still. Tonight isn't as busy, so no need to bob and weave. The rawr of my 549 cc parallel twin cylinders and the 402 lb weight of pure machine underneath me- I feel powerful. I ride when I can- since I was 17 and first bought the bike off my neighbor Winslow. I grew up in the late 80's early 90's listening to Motörhead on my Father's stereo and working on Winslow's bike- even though my mother said I should be working on my sewing or other feminine activities: I loved the rocker life and the badarse style. So in 2000, when I was 17 and Winslow became deathly sick- he gave me his baby and I have treated her well ever since.

Now she is aptly named The Queen's Pearl...Winslow laughed- because he made that a metaphor for something vulgar and I simply refused to listen to it.

I slow down as I approach the cafe, which seems fairly packed. Fortunately, parking spaces are plenty because, well...it's New York. My light flashes into the big window and I briefly think I see Max- but soon enough my bike's headlight casts him out of view. Turning everything off, I remove my helmet and put my kickstand down before getting off the bike. Checking myself in my handlebar mirror, I smile and head inside. It's not a very big cafe. About 10 by 20 long with an upper balcony. Looking at the big window, I don't see Max sitting there- in fact, there is the whole band set up. Drum kit in the window, bass guitar, lead electric, keyboard and several mics. Now...where is he.