August 09, 2000

I'd never seen a rolling mid-life crisis before.

He was riding one of those giant Harleys, cushioned and windshielded and lumbar-supported, basically a Barcolounger with wheels.  His Harley shirt was streached tight over his gut and his Harley helment covered thinning, sandy hair.  A Harley keychain dangled from the ignition.  I would have been willing to lay a bet on what kind of socks he had on.

His license plate read "EZEE RDR."

And, really, you can't get much easier than that.

 



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