The first time people saw the patch on Rico’s back... they crossed the street.
The red and white wings of the carried a reputation heavier than steel chains... and louder than thunder on the highway.
But Rico stopped caring what strangers thought... a long time ago.
At fifty-two years old... he rode a faded black Harley through the empty desert roads outside .
His knees were stiff.
His beard had turned gray.
And his past... never stopped following him.
Most nights... he sat alone inside