Clothing Carnage

Well, I got my baby back this week. There's a nice feeling. To see her, not to ride her. Can't ride her yet. Tried to start her the morning after her return: click-click dead. And to the list of 33 repaired items on her, we add "battery." No biggie, considering all she's been through. That'd be like me complaining that bright lights still hurt my eyes, when 11 months ago I didn't have the wherewithall to distinguish the armoir from the bathroom.

Oh, anyone wanna buy a bedroom set?

So, there she sits in the garage. Quiet and cold.

Cold, but purty.

And this morning it occurred to me that I need a bit more than a battery to get back in the wind. Boots: thrashed. Gloves: trashed. Jacket: oh... the jacket. Apparently the kind EMTs that responded to a 911 call of "dead motorcyclist" felt it necessary to cut my jacket off of me. HARSH. (Well... not to complain too much... it may have been necessary. I don't know. I wasn't exactly "present.")

So: I have a shopping trip to look forward to. Umm... after I get a job.

Oh, anyone wanna hire a marketing writer?

Perhaps I can get by with the existing gear: just tear the leather from the steel of the boots, duct tape the cuffs of the gauntlet gloves, staple or sew the jacket back together, and there we have it: Frankenbiker.

On the bright side, I don't need to buy a new helmet...