Bikers Were Painting My Dead Mother’s House Pink At 4AM And I Didn’t Know Any Of Them

house was pink. Completely, unapologetically, brilliantly pink.

It looked ridiculous. It looked beautiful. It looked exactly like something my mother would have wanted if anyone had ever asked her what she wanted.

Nobody ever asked her what she wanted. Not my father. Not me.

The bikers climbed down from their ladders. Cleaned their brushes. Stood in the continue reading …