– What are you doing, dipshit?

Andy points the hammer at the open door.

– Gonna get my bike.

George and Paul look at each other. The left side of George’s neck is badly scraped, a trickle of blood runs to the hollow of his throat and stains the collar of his Double Live Gonzo! T.

He nods.

– Fuck yeah, let’s get it.

They hop off their bikes and wheel them onto the porch.

Andy offers the hammer to George.

– Hector OK?

George takes the hammer.

– They’ll never catch him.

– They’re in a car.

Paul shakes his head.

– Don’t matter. He’ll hit the fields by the railroad tracks before they can catch up.

Hector rides up the driveway.

– Hey.

He stops, kicks one of the empty beer cans littering the front walk.

– What’s up?

George points at Andy.

– Getting his bike.

Hector joins them on the porch.

– Cool.

Andy squints.

– What happened?

– They chased me to the fields by the tracks and had to park and come after me on foot and I lost them in the weeds.

– Cool.

– Yeah.

They all stand there on the Arroyos’ porch.

George touches the blood on his neck.

– Let’s get the fuckin’ bike before they come back.

They go in, Paul, George, and Hector wheeling their bikes with them.

From Fighting With Chain

Their eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house.

Paul leans his bike against the wall.

– Fucking A.

The livingroom is littered with the mutilated carcasses of several dozen bikes.

Hector picks up the gear assembly from a ten speed.