I captured this gentleman a couple of weeks ago on a beautiful spring day. The only glimpse I caught of him was his reflection in the mirror. Here is his (completely imagined, wholly fabricated) story told on the 5 minute ferry ride.
"My name is Frank. Toots down there at the bar on Frenchman's may have told you it's Frances, but if you like your teeth, it's Frank. Only one ever got to call me Frances is my dear mother, and she's ten years in the ground now. Well, and Coraline. But that's another story for another beer.
Yeah, this bike is a real beauty, isn't she? Got her 3 years ago when I retired from offshore work for good. Good money in being a roughneck but after a certain age, it's hard on a man. 28 days of straight hard labor with no rest is hard on a man's body, hard on his woman, too. By the time I figured out it was a young man's game I'd grown out of, I'd lost a finger, my daughter's graduating high school and the right key to open my own damn front door. Cora coulda waited til I got home for a stretch, but I guess the waiting got to her, too. At least now I can grow my beard as long as I damn well please.
Oh, I travel just about anywhere I can get to. Heading down to Venice for some fishing this weekend. Working part time doing trim work, saving up for my trips and taking off when I have enough dough to get me someplace grand makes for easy street. I've seen a hell of a lot of the Gulf of Mexico in my life, but it's all been underwater, you know? Now I'm taking my time and seeing it all one road at a time."
Wonderful, as always.
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