I love blondes and nights in wet leather

A young dark-haired man with a beard and a blonde woman embrace under tent as rain fills the night in Sturgis, South Dakota. — **Allison walks into my night and pushes buttons I never knew I had. (Photo courtesy Midjourney)**

I start the night under Sturgis’ churning skies, drinking like drowning, figuring I’d spend the night under some godforsaken overpass.

But Lady Luck, that harsh mistress, has other plans.

At closing, Allison — pure Manhattan fireworks in the form of a blonde bombshell — saunters in. She plays coy, all curves and smiles, evaluating the men like a fat chick choosing a Spirit Airlines seat.

She finally reaches the patio. “You’ll freeze out here, you idiot,” she says, reaching for my hand.

Now here we are, in her company’s sprawling hospitality tent, more extravagant than my one-room Rogers Park rathole back home.

Around us, the rain slaps canvas like a drunk looking for a fight, and the cool wind teases goosebumps from my skin.

Folks around us are grousing about the weather, but Allison and I are talking bikes, roads, everything, and nothing. No mushy crap, no whispers or longing looks. Just two strangers nuzzling like two old hounds under a porch in the rain, finding solace and maybe a little more in the comforting scent of wet leather and shared dreams.

Tonight isn’t romance. It’s the whiskey-kissed breeze, the thunderous applause of the storm, and the woman who, against all odds, shared her shelter with me.

And as the world outside turns into an ocean worthy of a goddamn Noah’s Ark, I grin because I’ve got Allison, the storm, and this ridiculous canvas castle.

Sturgis, you unpredictable bitch, you sure know how to keep a guy guessing.