“Lord-have-mercy!”

My neighbor with his crotch-rocket. (Old Glory [“FlagOut”] and my zero-turn lawnmower are also visible.) (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

Motorbike number-seven has taken residence in my garage.
Before nattering nabobs of negativism poo-poo motorcycles as evil and dangerous....
It’s not mine. It’s my neighbor’s, a 1995 Kawasaki ZX-9R, what would prompt my deceased sister to utter “Lord-have-mercy!”
I gave up motorcycling at least six months ago, when I gave my 2003 Honda CB600-RR to Dubya-Hex-Hex-Hi, the classical-music radio-station out of Rochester I listen to. It’s publicly supported.
I didn’t wanna sell to someone I knew.
I suppose you could say I gave up motorcycling when my wife died. That was five years ago. I no longer was interested.
You could even say I gave up motorcycling 11 years ago when I retired from the Messenger newspaper. By then I was down to just commuting.
I can’t say I want my garage to become storage for my neighbor’s motorcycles. But I also don’t want him to have to store that motorbike out in the weather.
His ZX-9R had apparently been stored outside, but under a roof. It still looked pretty good.
Shortly after we brought it inside it rained torrents.
Years ago a fellow bus-driver asked to borrow $100. I refused. “That’s the best way I know to ruin a good friendship,” I commented.
“I never get that $100 back, and it becomes a bone of contention.”
He disappeared after that.
I’m my father’s son. My father borrowed from my paternal grandfather to help purchase a car, then yada-yada-yada-yada.
My father cosigned an installment loan for $600 to help me buy a used Corvair after college. I couldn’t make the payments, so despite many later $500 gifts to help my younger siblings attend college, I kept hearing about that $600 until my father died 28 years later.
My friend lives nearby, but in an apartment without a garage. That’s not forever, so some day number-seven will be gone.
Yrs Trly did sit on it.

• My wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her immensely. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one. She actually liked me.
• When I was teenager I had a mentally-retarded (Down Syndrome) younger brother who daily insisted the flag be flown. “Sun comes up, flag goes up; sun goes down, flag comes down.” He’d grab someone and say “FlagOut!”