American Made

There she was, a pixie-ish highlighted blonde sitting amidst a table of older men having coffee at Atwaters. They wore Harley-Davidson gear: leather vests, wristbands, T-shirts, etcetera. She, too, sported a black Harley T.

“Well, it’s great getting together,” she said. “You know that piece I did on D___ about Vietnam Vets. It’s up for an Emmy.”

“Is it something you wrote?” one guy asked.

“No . . . for TV,” she said.

The Reality of the situation was up for interpretation. She, a perfectly pedicured, toney Towsonite type. They, a grizzled and grayed gang of sorts. Either way, I saw nary a Hog parked anywhere outside.


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