I came home one day to find my best bud Jason, or “J” as everyone else had to call him, sitting astride his chromed out hog in my driveway. Anyone looking at the two of us would wonder how we got to be so tight considering how different we were.
J was a big guy, topping out at 6’4 and built like the proverbial brick shit-house, all muscle and no fat. He was the epitome of a classic 50s biker boy with his always greased back hair, leather jacket over a white t-shirt, jeans, and biker boots. He was easy on the eyes as well, not the typical rough biker people tend to think of when someone mentions a hog. I, on the other hand, was small in stature and build – the David to his Goliath. I was rather introverted and while not terribly bad looking, I was not going to win any modeling contests either.