HIGH TIMES MR. ALVIN
I was in Bayonne, standing near the
EastSiders' Clubhouse, a bunch of
motorcycle guys trying to find their
beer. Some said 'Let's go to North
Bergen.' I didn't wish to cross the
line. Somewhere behind us, an
Allman Brothers song was playing;
the one without words, about some
dead-girl's gravestone. Then some
new girl came in, with another guy
I only barely knew; they were from
Minnesota, and this was going to get
interesting. I knew enough to watch.
That's usually all it takes to get guys
all flustered up, these sorts anyway.
Everyone starts going on, to get a
'piece' of the action. Like a new
toy is some crappy playpen.
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