I started hanging out with those guys that ride motorcycles. Yesterday…the whole gang mounted up and stormed off to the next town looking for thrills and adventure. My mother warned me about these kinds of people but I went anyway. We stopped at a hangout with nothing but trouble on the menu (deep-fried everything). We used language colored with words like “please” and “thank you”. Apparently the folks who ride old “air-head” Beemers are just that way. It’s a cult bike ridden by enthusiasts who enjoy its quirky clutch, clunky transmission and cylinders on the sides. I noticed that no one had a single tattoo; there were no sleeveless shirts and “do rags” in lieu of helmets. I need to watch with whom I associate.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for giving me wonderful God fearing people to be around.
Amen
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