Two weeks ago I spent yet another fucking fabulous but blurry night in the company of a small group of friends I love dearly at their hilltop retreat in northern New South Wales, always a bitchin groovy occasion had by all, awesome company, superb nosh, good piss and other accoutrements appropriate to when this sort of shindig gets its freak on . . . . my man Mikey is one of the OG collectors of classic era paraphernalia pertaining to anything to do with cars, bikes, furniture, books, magazines, music, you name it, somewhere in his compound there's a chance it's there, if not, he'll know where it can be got.
In the early evening's half light, he comes up to me and hands me a plastic bag and says 'hey man, see if you can use these' as I'm peering into the long chain polymer carryall's contents . . . . fuck, dude, use them, I love em and they're going straight onto the shoveller's rear end as tail lights and number plate illumination, instant epiphany, a deadset, 100% guaranteed certainty . . . . with a bit of soapy water, some ultra fine wet and dry and some delicate elbow grease these lenses will clean up a treat without a drama, the brightwork won't be a problem either, the two semi Caddy pieces I figure will look the boobies sitting in between the base of the girly bar just above the fender, orange and red side by side, and the two smaller ones I plan to mount above the tucked in, side mounted number plate . . . . might not be legal but I couldn't give a fuck, the bike's already registered so away we go, yee fucking ha !!!!
None of this shit will be transpiring until the end of peak summer next year but by then I should have all I need fully gathered and ready to rock . . . . Chook, Lord of Light, Custodian of Crusty Goodness and Guardian of all things Genuwine . . . . love your work brother, thanks a truck load man !!!
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