jamais trôp metal

Bonded in the Zurich airport with a Montepellienne sporting gauges the size of chicken eggs over Mark’s grungy road-dog Bathory shirt. She offered to give me (along with my bike and incroyable amount of baggage) a ride to my final stop with her boyfriend Jeff in a little white roadster, where we all talked about Lyonnaise punk shows and Jeff’s fixie-loving collectif. I thanked them with a customary (on my end) two mini bottles of Grey Goose and we exchanged e-mails.

Metal, bringing people together since the dawn of badass.

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