South San Francisco house to peer out the window. Its four of my brothers

The sound of a pack of Harleys coming up the street draws my attention and I wander to the front of the house to peer out the window. Its four of my brothers. They slow to make the turn into my driveway.
I backtrack through the house and go out the back door to meet them. They park and dismount, pulling their helmets off.

Wondered how long itd take before you found the place. I smile. I hope to God you brought beer.
Red Dog grins, pulls a twelve-pack out of his saddlebag, and holds it up. Like American Express . . . dont leave home without it.

Boots trudge inside, and four leather-clad men plus myself take up most of the space in the kitchen.
Red Dog hands me the case of cans. Dont say I never gave ya nothin.I tear it open and pass them each a beer.They wander around the house, checking each room.

Cole slouches back in the chair at the head of the table, one arm hooked over the back. I sit on the opposite end. Wolf and Crash sit in the middle, while Red Dog leans a hip against the buffet.
You movin in probably lowered the home values of everybody in the neighborhood, Crash jokes.
Drive over wasnt as far as I thought, Cole says.

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