AS I APPROACHED A CORNER on my morning walk, a big Harley passed in front of me from left to right and, once I reached the corner and turned, there it was pulled over up ahead. The rider had stopped to light a cigarette. It was Sonny Barger, founder of the Oakland Hells Angels. “I thought you were dead,” I said. “No, my bike was stripped down for a while,” he said, “but it’s up and running now.” He was much older looking than the last time I’d seen him. “Where you headed?” I asked. “On my way back to Oakland,” said Barger, adding: “I been checking on some of our subsidiary clubs.” “I don’t mean to be picky,” I offered hesitantly, “but there really should be an apostrophe in Hell’s Angels.” “You may miss it,” replied Barger, taking a long drag, “but we don’t.” “Well,” I said, chastised, “if rules don’t apply to you guys, I guess that includes rules of grammar too.” “Yeh, but we do have some rules,” he said, offended. “No IV drugs,” he proclaimed, “no ex-cops, no blacks, and no prissy women.” He tossed his cigarette out and cranked up his cycle with a great throaty roar. “Gotta go, dude,” he said, and took off down the road, disappearing around a curve. The throb of the Harley engine faded away slowly. No prissy women, I thought to myself, and smiled.
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