Monday morning started before sunrise and I woke to the familiar sound of rain tapping lightly against the apartment windows and for the first time in months, my first thought wasn’t about overdue bills.
Instead, I wondered how many motorcycles were already waiting downstairs and that alone felt like a miracle.
I showered, brushed my teeth and pulled on my usual grease stained jeans and faded black band t-shirt and then tied my hair into a ponytail before making coffee and two slices of toast.
The apartment smelled faintly of fresh coffee and engine oil drifting up from the garage belong.
It smelled like home and I carried my mug downstairs and unlocked the front door of Lawson Customs.
Three customers were already waiting.
“You know we don’t open for another fifteen minutes, ri
