I sat up on my Cervelo R3 as I coasted into the cul-de-sac where I lived with my significant other, Avril. I sucked electrolyte infused water from my Polar high-performance water bottle while I checked my stats on my Garmin Forerunner. Heart rate was 160 beats per minute and my average speed a brisk 21 miles per hour which wasn't bad considering that included traffic lights on my 22 mile commute from work. I turned into my driveway and nearly cursed. My neighbor, Angus "Tank" Hillman was working on his motorcycle again.
Avril was going to flip. As usual Angus had his garage door open and his 1980s rock music blaring. He claimed that he needed the door open to ventilate the garage and needed the music to concentrate. Avril preferred new age music; rock music grated on her nerves. I didn't mind the music, but I wished that Angus would at least wear clothes that fit. The site of his ass crack was enough to put me off my dinner.
I dismounted from my bike and crept to the front door, avoiding the garage, fearing that its sound would alert Angus to my presence.
"Howdy, neighbor," said Angus in his deep gruff voice. "How goes the war?"
"Hello, Angus." I leaned my bicycle against my house and walked over to the property line. "How are you on this fine spring day?"
"Another day above ground so I can't complain."
"Are you working on a new bike?" I asked, looking into his garage. The previous motorcycle had been blue and this one was black. "That doesn't look like the one you were working on last week."
"You got a good eye, chief. Yeah, I finished up the Fat Boy and now I'm working on a 1994 Sportster 883."
While Angus rambled about the history of Harley Davidson, how great their bikes were and the heydays of the great biker gangs, I wondered what I'd done in a previous life to deserve a neighbor like him. It must have been pretty horrendous.
Angus was so repulsive. We stood a good ten feet apart, he on his side of the property line and me on mine and I could still smell his stench. He reeked of grease, sweat, beer and cigar smoke. The last could be attributed to the cigar butt lodged in the corner of his mouth, but since he was never without a cigar it counted as part of him as far as I was concerned.
I'd been worried about seeing his ass crack earlier, but his front wasn't much better. I found myself wishing he'd remove the dirty bandana he used to keep his long, stringy black hair out of his face. If his hair wasn't pulled back it would hide the craggy, hairy mess that he called a face. He had a deep scar that ran along one cheek and a beard that looked like it hadn't been washed since he'd gotten out of prison two years ago. He wore a leather vest with a Hell's Angels emblem on the back, under which he wore a faded Harley Davidson t-shirt that looked like it may have fit 40 pounds ago. The thing strained against his barrel chest and hairy belly.
"Wow. That is so interesting. Thanks for sharing," I said when he'd finished his filibuster. "Listen, do you think you could turn down the music a tad?"
"You have a problem with my music?" Angus stepped across the property line. He puffed on his cigar as he looked down at me.
"No, not me," I said quickly. Besides being at least a head taller than me, he looked strong enough to lift one of his many motorcycles. "It's Avril; she has a hard time hearing her programs on NPR over your music."
Angus placed a massive paw on my shoulder and shook his head. "Just who wears the pants in your house, Milo?" I winced as he squeezed my shoulder. "Sure, I'll turn down the music."
"Thanks." I turned to leave.
"Say, have you tried those cigars I gave you for your birthday?"
"Not yet, Angus. I'm not much of a cigar smoker."
"Well, if you're not going to smoke them, would you mind bringing them over here? I'd hate to see quality cigars go to waste. And call me Tank, all right?"
Angus turned down the music as promised and I went inside and started in on dinner, a vegan lentil curry. Thirty minutes later Avril arrived home from work where she taught women's studies at Alder Creek Community College. She wore an ankle-length, hemp skirt and a beige, organic cotton blouse. Her light-brown hair was cut into a short bob. She never wore makeup since she felt that it was a male construct designed to keep women busy on unimportant matters. She also took issue with the animal testing involved with most makeup. Her bra was visible beneath her blouse, not that she really needed one. She had tiny A cups and was skinny to the point that some people thought she had a disorder.
We hugged and kissed and I once again thanked providence that allowed me to share life's journey with such a wonderful human being. We shared world views in general, but still had spirited debates. Such as the benefits of a plant based vegan diet versus a raw vegan diet or the best way to celebrate the earth and all the treasures she so generously shares with us. In her spare time Avril was an eco-activist and tri-athlete. I could out do her on a bike and I held my own swimming, but she left me in the dust on the marathon.
After dinner, we sat in the living room, Enya playing softy on the stereo, flickering candles our only light. Avril sat lengthwise on our wicker love seat with her feet in my lap, which I massaged. She had her eyes closed and looked like peace personified. My hands left her feet and slid beneath her skirt and massaged her calves. My plan was to continue my massage up her legs until I reached her inner thighs and then I'd make love to her in the candle light. Unfortunately our neighbor chose that moment to rattle our windows with AC/DC's "Hell's Bells".
Avril stiffened. "I thought you said that you talked to him." She pulled her legs away from me and sat up.
"I did. Apparently it wasn't enough. I'll talk to him again." I stood and headed to the bedroom.
"Our inconsiderate neighbor isn't in the bedroom, Milo."
"I'm getting a peace offering."
I grabbed the box of cigars from my closet and looked at the label. The bust of a red, winged devil stood over the words "Fausto". The cigars looked expensive. Avril waited for me at the front door, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. I slipped on my Birkenstocks beneath her glare. I found Angus in his garage, bent over his motorcycle, showing his ass crack to the world.
"I have your cigars, Angus," I said once I was able to get his attention.
"Thanks buddy. Why don't you have one with me," Angus said around the long cigar already in his mouth.
"No thanks. Look, can you turn down the music?"
"You've got to at least try one of these cigars. There's nothing else like them."
"Thank you, but no."
"Tell you what. Try one of the cigars and I'll be a church mouse for a whole week." He walked over to his stereo and touched the volume knob. "So, is it a yes?" He turned the music down to a whisper. "Or a no?" He cranked the music until my ears felt like they were going to implode.
"I'll try one," I screamed.
He smiled and hit the power button, the resulting silence was heavenly. "Prepare to have your life changed."
Angus set his cigar on a workbench and took the wooden cigar box from me. He opened it and removed one of the long, thick cigars. He ran it under his nose, seeming to savor the aroma. He removed a buck knife from his belt.
"Got to make a hole first," Angus said as he cut the pointy end of the cigar.
He flicked his lighter to life, a light blue flame shot out with a hiss. He rolled the tip of the cigar over the flame. It reminded me of roasting marshmallows as a child. Once the tip began to glow he handed the cigar to me.
