The woman with the Royal Enfield motorcycle


The woman with the Royal Enfield motorcycle
by Leroy Vaughn

There was a slight throbbing in my head as I woke up and found myself in a place that looked like an
abandoned pool-hall.

As I sat at the edge of the bed, I saw a nice looking brunette polishing a motorcycle in the corner of
the room.

She had some zydeco music playing on an old jukebox and was doing a cute little shuffle as she walked around the bike.

I was trying to figure out what I was doing in a pool- hall/pinball warehouse.

The last thing I remembered was me and this woman sitting at a bar on Toulouse Street in the French Quarter.

I drank two beers and everything was fine until she asked if I had ever tried absinthe.

Now I know why people call that stuff the green madness.

After one or maybe two shots of absinthe it appeared that my entire memory of the night before had been erased.

“Hey Mr. sleepy eyes, good to see that you made it,” she told me as she walked over and gave me a hug.

“Is everything O.K.,” she wanted to know.

“Yeah, everything is good,” I lied to her.

“After I finish polishing my bike, we could take a cruise over to the riverfront and hang out, if you want to,” she suggested.

“That would be great,” I told her as I tried to think of a way to ditch her.

It wasn’t that she was bad looking or anything like that, in fact she was very pretty, but I had a feeling that there was something different or dangerous about her and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that bugged me.

Nothing made sense to me. I had just drifted into New Orleans yesterday afternoon and all I remember is meeting her in that bar on Toulouse St.

I was planning my escape when she came over and hugged me.

She pushed me towards the bed and said, “We can always find something to do here at my place, if you don’t want to ride over to the river.”

I was embarrassed, but I had to tell her.

I looked her in the eyes and said, “You’re going to think I’m a real jerk, but I forgot your name.”

“Silly boy,” she replied. “We never introduced ourselves.”

* * * * The End * * * *
As occurred to fellow bar buddy Leroy Vaughn
Copyright Leroy Vaughn 2017

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