Why James Lane should never own a motorcycle…

Ok, on Friday June 2 in 1989 I was invited over to a client’s house to view the wedding photos that I shot at her shin-dig only a few days earlier. She was all proud of herself because she was going to make a big “vegi-mexican feast” and we were going to go through her contact sheets and I was going to give her my ideas for my personal favorites, I hate weddings… Anyway the client was paying me $1,200 bucks which at the time was a fortune so I’d pretty much put up with anything she could dish out including her version of a “vegi-mexican feast”. So I straddled the ‘ol ’81 GPZ 750 and headed East up 108th to Pen in OKC on a thick 5:00 crawl. Just past Greystone it opened up and I was running a little late so I goosed the GPZ up to about 40 and cruised through the Green at Pen and 108th. 17 year old Kelly Smith (not her real name but she never cared enough about me to give me her name but for some reason that is the name I have always given her…) was running a little late for her senior prom because she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to eat at the Prom itself and she could just forget about scoring a meal between the prom and the after party so she’d have to settle for a cheese burger at Mc Death’s on Pen at 108th. She got the burg, a large order of fries and an extra large diet Dr. Caffeine and slammed her shit-brown 1978 Buick Le Sabre into drive. Kelly was wearing a beautiful Pink frilly ball gown and unforgettable (please-fuck-me-from-behind) 5 inch lighting-blue, stiletto-pumps. She threw a hand full of money[…]

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