two smalltown mistakes

black rusting tank of a land-cruising beat-up ragtop Buick slowed down to assess a scene so innocent with windows rolled down

fool cocky cool customers with one sitting on top of the seat twirling a six shooter while the other loading an assault shotgun to the thrum of the V8 engine drowning out a dust devil ridden wind down empty main street to inspect stricken harley chopper

as a usually coolheaded biker kicked at the dead engine of the custom built easy rider with a long front fork and then bent up stiff wind whipping tassels on leather chaps and black bandana which he took off to mop his bald forehead with the 1/4 inch spanner that he had been checking spark plugs and distributor contacts

completely unaware of squinting menace under shadows of a beat-up straw hat that'd seen better days of a driver who sat chewing on stub of a cigar out side of his mouth as he levelled sawed off 22guage shotgun at unaware biker with no love lost for out-of-towners who prey on unsuspecting women and a few of them were cousins of self-appoint sheriff

made his first mistake nodding to his accomplices and spitting out stub of cigar and failing to notice twin desert eagles slung over saddlebags of the bike which the easy riding desperado who noticed slight movement in chopper's hubcap and heard cigar being spit out

instantly rising slowly grabbing shining pistols spitting .357 calibre bullets out of their holsters to dive letting off a hornet's nest of bullets and diving behind a parked truck as one thug involuntarily dove off the backseat of the Buick

his bewildered buddy let off his shotgun at sky as driver put a bullet or two through the gas tank in the truck's gas tank in the back and slowing down both jump onto bed of the truck as gasoline trickled into a pool on dusty street

that was their second and final mistake to yell about what a coward the retreating biker who turned and grinning produced a road flare at the pool of gasoline and as it arched in slow motion as it seemed to the doomed rednecks and he aimed carefully with both desert eagles at flying flare

only firing two rounds and bowing his black bandana'd head he mused to why he was still alive because fool had alerted attention in act of spitting his cigar out and now staring wide eyed as flare burst to flame and landed in the gas pool erupting into fireball of incineration

as the biker walked away spinning the silver polished weapons and hoping to hell that his bike would start in a hurry and suddenly realized clutch was loose and flooded so he tightened clutch wire and gunned it off small town thugs still smouldering