Damn your eyes, Matt
When my mate Matt first said it, it sounded like such an innocent, passing remark – helpful and encouraging even. Not long after, I was convinced that it was NOT innocent, I definitely couldn’t get past it, and I sure needed help… It all started very innocently. I was visiting Matt, and we talked about bikes. We both write about them for a living, which together with limited imagination and unrefined social skills means that we talk about bikes a lot. We both have old BMW airheads, and like any proud or desperate owner we are simply compelled to talk about them at length. Quite often our natter is like the greasy trails of engine oil seeping out through little cracks in the gaskets of those big old boxer engines. We get distracted,…
