This is the sophisticated brawn of the Hells Angels playing a string quartet at your niece’s fourth wedding. By day, they’re all black current leather, blueberry burnouts, clove chrome studs, and resinous switchblade scars. By night, cutoff Armani jackets, lavender wingtips, and graham cracker sonatas. Bay leaf brass knuckles dancing up and down the fretboards. Blackberry tattoos flexing with each drawn bow. God-knows-what hidden in the cello case. They might even get misty-eyed at the first dance, but if you touch their bikes, you’ll be the one crying.
