I had a febrile seizure when I was 10 months old. Seconds away from dying. I’m not supposed to be here. Something someone did kept me here. The saying, “if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldnt have any luck at all.” never meant more. I’m not supposed to be here. So i drink myself to death. The one person I thought I could trust. The one that could save me. Crushed me. What else is there left? Who would notice? I’m a wallflower. No one knows I’m there to begin with. I shouldn’t be here to write this post to begin with. What’s left?
People ask you what you want to do for a living. It’s a loaded question. Me? I want to flip motorcycles. I want to buy basket cases and build Cafe racers in my garage and flip them for double what I paid. I want to know my bikes like I know the back of my hand. I want to fabricate my own gas tanks and know my bikes are something to be admired. That’s my calling.