The english bull terrier was a popular feature of the party.
It hopped forward and back and barked.
Many tried to make it's acquaintance and failed.
The freckled dark haired girls jeered the new guys who walked into the party. The animal was curious about me. But I wasn't going to give it the opportunity to fase me infront of forty guests.
It was the hosts birthday I guessed, his house upon a terrace above the roadway below.
Motorcycle repair clients had come to pay and congratulate the guy for his birthday.
Many of the guests formed semicircles around Butch, as he gave speeches about motorcycles.
How he'd fixed them, adventures he'd had on them. Attempting to share new material. With limited vernacular old bits getting in the way. But the audience was getting there, smoke and empty bottles littered the open garage.
He had his die hard friends, the guys that wouldn't leave his side. and half a dozen women who represented their girlfriends, yet Butch was already familiar with all of them at one time or another.
And they were the fuel for Butch's speech, they knew when to "whoah" or "hoorah" strategically, more from practice than tact and wit.
After his "I am the best fucking shit you have ever seen" speech. He got to passing beers out and making jokes about the actions of some of his guests on those previous drunken nights of the current early spring.
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