Because some lines you just don’t cross.
Three hundred motorcycles parked in perfect formation across Mayor Richards’ manicured lawn. Kickstands sinking into his perfect grass. A wall of chrome and steel surrounding his property.
Richards came to his door in his bathrobe. “I’ll have you all arrested!”
“With what cops?” someone shouted back.
That’s when he noticed. Mixed in with the bikers were off-duty officers. Firefighters. EMTs. The entire night shift had called in sick. They were all here wearing leather instead of uniforms.
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