Every weekend at the Lodge the air is filled with the sound of mariachi and the smell of al pastor cooking. I just got home from work and the neighbors grill is fired and old romantic mexican love songs are echoeing through the neighborhood. I'm sitting on the back porch looking over the alley watching everybody else sitting on their back porch looking over the alley. A stack of bikes in the backyard, enough money for a twelve pack, some marlboros and a burrito. Mitch is inside listening to Back in Black on vinyl and Ratchets still sleeping from the night shift. I don't think I planned on my life being this perfect but this must be heaven.
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