Only Hot Middle-aged Bikers

Insomnia strikes again. Perhaps it is because I am working on an idea for a story. Regardless of the cause, I am awake in the middle of the night Googling alternate reality and other ideas I don’t really understand. I am sitting on a bench in front of my hotel surrounded by three beautiful motorcycles. 

I don’t touch them, because I have been taught manners. 

While I am sitting there, three gregarious gentlemen amble up the sidewalk. I am pretty sure they are mildly inebriated, but I don’t judge. 

The one in the middle calls out to me, “Thank you for watching our bikes!”

“No problem! I like your bikes.” I probably blush a little. These guys are hot. 

“Atta girl!” He replied with an impressive and charming grin. 

They go inside the lobby. 

After about a minute one of them comes back outside. 

“Excuse me darlin, what time is breakfast?” 

I honestly don’t know, but I feel like I need to tell him something. So I let him know I think it starts at six. Then I panic a little and tell him about the sign on the wall with the hotel’s breakfast times. I am completely flustered by this hot biker dude calling me “darlin.” Hehe. 

Only hot middle-aged bikers get away with that kind of behavior. 

Now excuse me while I go to bed and try to get some sleep. 

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