Hippie on a Harley

Today I helped a hippie on a Harley jump start his dead bike at the gas station.

It was 5am. Nobody was there except us.

“Hey, man, you got any cables?” he called.

“Sure,” I said.

I brought over the cables and hooked to my car, then bike, then car again. Positive car, positive bike, negative bike, negative ground car. I started the car.

 “Give it whirl,” I said.

His Harley had fur covering the handles and everything else was covered in paint drips like a Jackson Pollack painting. He twisted the furry throttle and it roared to life.

He was a like character out of the Bible but with big heavy boots and a gold tooth. I pictured him living in a commune out in the desert near Joshua Tree with other hippie Harley riders.

He said, “Whoa, man, you just totally re-energized my cosmic chariot with your good vibes and electron flow. You’re like a modern-day wizard of the asphalt jungle, wielding jumper cables like mystical wands of power. This Harley, she’s not just a bike, you know? She’s my steel steed, my mechanical muse, cruising down the highway of enlightenment. And there you were, a spontaneous spirit guide, appearing in my moment of mechanical meditation.

Your energy, dude, it’s like you’ve got this aura of positivity, an electric halo of helpfulness. It’s far out, like you’re tuned into the great cosmic radio station, and the universe just played our favorite song. You didn’t just jump-start my Harley, man, you jump-started my soul.

I’ll tell you, brother, this moment, it’s more than serendipity; it’s like synchronicity on steroids. You’re not just a good Samaritan; you’re a galactic gardener, planting seeds of kindness in the concrete jungle. And this Harley, she’s purring like a kitten now, but with the heart of a lion, all thanks to your mechanical mojo.

I’m cruising away from here, but I’m carrying your vibe with me, man. It’s like you charged up my spiritual battery as well as my bike’s. Keep spreading that light, brother. The road ahead is brighter because of souls like you. Ride on, cosmic crusader, ride on!”

Well, I thought he was going to say something like that.

He didn’t.

“Thanks, bro,” he said as he revved the jet-loud engine, disconnected the red-and-black cables and tossed them on the oily cement.

“No problem,” I said as he popped the seat down, revved the jet-loud engine and disappeared into the darkness surrounding the brightly lit gas station.