Lighthouse

You could hear the throaty purr of the Harley a quarter of a mile away. The outlaws were coming to visit. Neighbours cringed behind net curtain at the sight before them. Big R sat astride the hog looking like a cross between ZZ Top and Grisly Adams. D rode high on the pillion, her skin tight leathers doing little to hide her tattoos and piercings. Both wore tattered denim waistcoats emblazoned with 'Looe Chapter'.

They were on a laundry run, but I knew that was code for a supply drop.
"Hi", I called from the doorway as they parked up.
"Not yet, but soooooon", they chorused in reply.

They had brought gifts. Home baked chocolate biscuit, no doubt laced with something you couldn't buy over the counter............. at least, not without a prescription.

Within minutes the bong was stoked, primed and afire. Now, I could write and tell you how the afternoon went..............if I could remember. I did think that it was a mistake to have my mother in the room where substances were smoked. Within a few minutes of heavy breathing, she insisted she showed us all how she used to dance as a child. It mainly consisted of pirouetting on tiptoe and holding her dress over her head. Thank God I had insisted on clean underwear when she was dressing that morning.

My head was still spinning as they left. All the dusting and Hoovering to impress had been in vain. The neighbours came out of hiding as our little estate returned to normal................. 'till the next time.