David Baxter

Bell's Angels

Ralph craned his neck, squinting down at the town below, from the shade of his porch, wondering what that murmuring noise was. As the sound grew from a rustle to a clattering din, he walked to the street to try to figure out what was happening. Shading his eyes against the summer sun he saw the darndest sight. The hearse from McCaffrey’s Funeral home was rolling away from St. Anthony’s Church followed by what looked like every kid in town on a bike. But what was making that racket he still wondered.