George was on this old two stroke from the 70s. It was a kelly green looking bike, near as i could tell on account of the dim lighting outside the warehouse. He backed it out and saddled up and got to kick-firing the thing in a natural and violent sort of way. The perry ellis blazer he picked up at the goodwill store was a size too small and the sleves were halfway up his forarms as he pulled in on the clutch. Finally with one last hell-stomp the thing coughed life. I was laughing like a mad man and george looked up and grinned. He had on a pair of aviators, but with clear frames. George always had his eye on the details. He revved the two stroke motor and it knocked around a little reluctant.   But reluctant is good enough on an old Vespa. I sat on my hog and smelled the dust and sickly sweet exhaust that drifted across my halogen headlight.  Daniel roared off on his hog and shouted over his shoulder GEORGE BE CAREFUL THERES NO FRONT BRAKE ON THAT FUCKER. We both followed and I wished I had one of the sparkly stars and stripes helmet like Dan did, but the green and yellow one I had would be fine enough for now.  Besides, it was the month of september, 2005, and a helmet with stars and stripes no longer held the same meaning it did when Jack Nicholson wore it.  I would want to be entirely comfortable with my interpretations and convictions before i tightened that strap, just in case i saw jesus on the other side of a pothole, standin on the corner droppin some of the hottest verse new york has ever heard.