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fancy, but isn't.  I rent a small little storefront in our sleepy little downtown area and I'm the only person who works there.  At least I was the boss, right?  I didn't have any appointments this morning, so being late isn't an issue.
     
    I took my time getting ready, feeling a little frisky after last night, almost as if I had had sex with someone other than myself!  I spent a little extra time on my appearance, even though the only people that were going to see me would be whoever happened to be at the grocery store on my way home later.  My business was failing, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't have any walk-ins today. 
     
    I was in for a whole lot of boredom, just like every other day.  Well, unless I found something extra special to watch today.  Visions of the tall man and the blonde's moans filled my head throughout the morning as I ate breakfast and slowly made my way out of the house.
     
    I pulled up in front of Dixie's Cut and Curl and looked around the almost abandoned street.  A few cars were in front of the old post office, but that was it.  I pulled down my rear view mirror to check my lipstick before I got out of the car.  Really, I was just procrastinating going inside my depressing, failing business.  But I had to keep up appearances, I guess.  My long, black curls cascaded down my back and my lipstick was perfect and boring, just like it was when I left my house ten minutes ago. 
     
    I sighed as I walked up to the dark door of my salon.  Just as I put the key in the lock, the plate glass window in front of my shop began vibrating violently.  I turned around, knowing exactly what I would see.  Harleys.  Big, loud, earth-shatteringly loud motorcycles.  Several of them. 
     
    I watched as the four leather-clad men rode past me and turned into their motorcycle repair shop at the end of the block.  This was a daily occurrence – luckily my window hadn't broken yet.  I was sure that was going to happen some day, though.  I never understood why their bikes had to be so damned loud.  But I wasn't about to ask them, let alone dare to complain to anyone.
     
    These weren't just any bikers.  These guys were part of a local biker gang, The Outlaws.  Their name was so obvious, it just seemed like a huge flag they were waving to the world.  But the cops seemed to leave them alone, as did everyone else in town.  I was sure they were up to some sort of illicit activity, but since I didn't seen any of them coming in for a cut or curl anytime soon, I was pretty sure they weren't going to be providing me with that information.
     
    Which was just fine with me.  They scared the hell out of me.  Sure, I was intrigued about them, so was everyone else in town, but there was an unspoken rule that if you left them alone, they would leave you alone.  So most folks abided by it and all was just fine.
     
    They sure were an active bunch of people though.  I had the pleasure of being in a prime spot to watch their comings and goings.  In addition to the motorcycle repair business, there must have been another business going on over there, because there sure were a lot of women that hung out there.  Curvy, scantily clad, leather-boot, fringe-jacket, big-hair kind of women.  The kind of women that sashayed through the parking lot knowing every man's eyes were raking over her every curve and expected it.  The bikers seemed to be very fond of those kind of women.  But, who wouldn't?  I had to admit I was guilty of raking my eyes over their curves myself.  They were impossible to resist. 
     
    But today, there was not one woman in sight.  After turning on the lights of the salon and the radio, and opening the big curtain of the front window, I stood there staring across the street into the big open parking lot of Outlaw Repair.  There were only men there today and when I glanced at the faces of the various guys milling around, I noticed there was a whole lot of grimaces, angry eyes and clenched