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amount of time. The thought of Sam’s mother dying, and dying from something no one would or could make any plans or concessions to prepare for caused me to feel a deeper sorrow for the entire family. Even a car wreck would allow a person to eventually accept it as God’s will.
    But aluminum foil?
    I began to worry about Sam, and wondered how she’d accept the death. I attempted to consider myself in the same circumstance, and decided I’d probably never accept it as being part of life’s big plan for me or my family. Trying to make sense of it was beginning to make me feel uneasy. Although I was raised by a God fearing family, I in no way struggled with God as much as Axton or Toad, but still struggled nonetheless. I did, however, believe I lived in God’s world; and that all things happened for a reason.
    I sat and stared at the amber bottle, wondering if my lifetime would produce enough time for me to come up with a good reason for the mother of the only woman I ever loved dying from such an unfortunate incident.
    I eventually lifted the bottle and drank the remaining beer with the understanding that although some things in life are unavoidable, we may never accept them as being necessary.

 
     
     
     
    OTIS
    A two hour long workout provided little relief, and my tension was still at a level I wasn’t comfortable with. Obviously having a difficult time accepting the death of Sam’s mother as being necessary, I stepped into the shower with the hope it would wash away the remaining discomfort I was feeling.
    After showering until there was no remaining hot water, I dried off, took a precursory glance in the mirror, and walked to my bedroom. Although I should have climbed into bed and retired for the night, I felt falling asleep would prove impossible.
    A quick text message to the Sinners I reserved as friends revealed Biscuit as the only one available to have a drink. Eager to attempt to rid myself of what was bothering me, I got dressed, hopped on my bike, and rode to Wichita to meet him at the bar.
    I parked my bike beside his and surveyed the parking lot. A few cars littered the otherwise empty lot. Sunday night at most bars in Wichita was a slow night, and considering the problems in Waco, Texas with the shooting, several of the bars had made new rules regarding bikers wearing their cuts inside the bar. It came as no surprise, and although most bars prevented gangs such as the Crips and Bloods from wearing their colors, none had taken the chance at attempting to prevent MC’s from doing so. This bar was one who was still biker friendly and had made no such rule, leaving it as one of our available options. As I walked through the door I recalled the night I met Axton’s Ol’ Lady, Avery.
    “Big O, what’s shakin’,” Biscuit said as he stood from his bar stool.
    I shook my head and grinned, “Just needing to unwind. Let’s go over and sit in one of those booths, I don’t need the bartender listening to what we’re talking about.”
    “No argument from me, that stool is as hard as a wedding day cock,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me and slapped me on the back.
    “Place don’t seem the same without Avery and that other chick workin’, does it?” Biscuit sighed as we walked toward an open booth.
    I shook my head, “Sure doesn’t.”
    Biscuit sat down and placed his Red Bull and glass of vodka in front of him. As he sat and studied me for a short moment, he rubbed his beard with his right hand, and eventually drug his fingers through his thick brown hair.
    “Sure you heard about Corndog and that poor girl who worked here, huh?” he asked as he leaned onto the edge of the table.
    I nodded my head, “I’ve heard some, yeah.”
    He pressed his forearms onto the table, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward, “They’re inseparable now. He’s been fuckin’ that poor girl six ways from Sunday. Talked to him after the meeting the other day. Said he’s been schooling her on