Play Along With It

The Bar

(That's what Tiffany looks like^^^)

RRRRRR!!!!

That was the only sound that I hear. I could feel the vibrations under me as my Harley's tires ran over the asphalt. With ink black sky stretched out over me, I could tell that it was late. Yet I didn't feel the tiredness. I didn't feel exhausted. I felt exhilarated. The adrenaline coursing through my veins, releasing into my Harley motorcycle. It felt like we were one. We were one being, racing over the interstate road. Beside me, cars slowly dragged behind me, until they were mere specks of white light. The new cars coming up were just red specks. Black tinted my vision from my helmet. The wind brushed my finger tips, the only thing exposed to its harsh stinging.

Suddenly, one thing disrupted my adrenaline rush. My rumbling stomach.

Glancing around, I saw nothing but dark rows of corn and soybeans. Occasionally, I would pass a field and catch a glimpse of the distant mountains. West Virginia was full of them. Especially down south.

I had to drive for a while before I faintly found a place to eat. It wasn't anything special, really. Just a log cabin with big, neon red and blue lights that literally said "Bar". Deciding that this was probably the only place I'd come across in a long time, I veered off to the right, pulling into the bar. Almost immediately, I saw a long row or motorcycles.

Great. A biker bar. I may have been a bike myself, but biker bars were full of old buff dudes looking to nail a girl like me. Letting my eyes wander over the parking lot, I finally find an empty spot. It's by another motorcycle, but I doubted that it was with that gang. There was easily enough room for one more bike to fit by them. I pulled up next to the bike, and glanced at it. It's a black chopper. Classic. Two long metal bars from the handle bars to the front tire. Long body. Everything about it just screamed "Masculine".

Shutting it off, I pulled my black helmet off. My long dark brown hair fell out, spreading across my black leather jacket. My red highlights caught the red neon lights, making it shine. I glanced at my own bike. It was a simple black Harley. Nothing too special in your eyes, but in my eyes; it was everything. My whole world, all smushed into a motorcycle. Hell, I was barely home. And by home, I meant a cheap apartment in downtown. But I didn't care. I worked at a bar, similar to this one. I earned just enough to pay for my house and Harley.

I hung my black helmet up on the handle bars, and made my way towards the bar. A couple bikers were standing out front. They were smoking cigarettes and sipping whiskey. As soon as I was near enough, I got whistles. I rolled my eyes, and shoved my way through the door. It made a ringing noise, alerting everyone that someone just entered. Just as I expected, several guys turned their heads to me. Immediately, I was greeted with cat calls and dirty jokes. Ignoring them, I went straight to the bar. My rear was still sore from the ride here, so I didn't exactly what to sit. Instead, I leaned against the bar, sticking my sore butt out.

The bartender came up to me, and looked down in interest. Bright blue hair, brown eyes, tall, skinny. I'd say around 21. Nothing special about him except his hair.

"How can I help you, Sugar?" He asked, winking at me. Straightening up, I glared at him.

"I'll take a Shirley temple with a cheeseburger and fries." I ordered, glaring at him. He nodded.

"Not up for any beer tonight?" He questioned. I shook. My head. I was driving on the interstate at 80 miles an hour with semi's. I didn't need alcohol. "Anything else?" He smirked. I knew dirty things were going through his mind, and I was starting to get pissed.

"Yeah. Get your ass out of here and get me a good waiter." I growled. Behind me, several guys laughed. The bartenders face turned red from embarrassment. He turned around, and went into the back.