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He outstretched his hand and gestured toward the ground beside me, as his other hand reached up to remove his hat. Soft white light cascaded over his features as the eclipse from his hat lifted.Oh shit... it was Morgan Bryant! The Morgan Bryant – my absolute favourite country music artist I had specifically flown all the way from Australia to see. “Mind if I sit?” All I could do was nod... then panic as I realised the nod could have suggested that I did, in fact, mind. I stuttered, “Sure, uh... yes... please sit.” My face burned bright red as I realised I had just told THE Morgan Bryant to “sit” as though I was commanding my two cattle dogs – Diesel and Dixie – back home on the farm. Morgan let out a chuckle as he sat. “I detect an accent... Australian, right?” I nodded. “I’m Morgan.” He reached his hand out towards me; his introduction humoured me... as if I wouldn’t know who he was. “Tess.” I went to shake his hand, but instead my hand was scooped up and gently kissed. I blushed. I wore theobligatory spike heeled boots and a studded dog collar. Your basic bikerbimbo ready for sun and fun in scenic California. Bixlee was at the bar. They had been drinking most of the day so it waseasy to get a bottle and fill it with gasoline. I poured a little intohis library window. I went in back and stuffed some rag into the bottlemouth. I dropped the lit Molotov cocktail inside before the flames orsmoke could be seen and hurried back to the bar. When the fire was noticed, I was dancing with two other girls up on thego-go platform. Bixlee started crying. He tried to go into the burnighouse to save his photos. I cold hear him calling for- help. But theyheld him back. Hawkie led the bikers out to watch. Like I figured, thesehuman lice wouldn't care if your home burnt to ash as long as they hadsomeplace to drink and pass out. But that was on the list too. I poured gasoline from the second bottle behind the bar. I left thebottle lit and tilted against the wall. When it.
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