But this was something else entirely. The building looked like it had begun its life as a brick rowhouse. But it had metastasized from there, pieced together like Frankenstein's monster. The rest of the rowhomes on the block must have been knocked down ages ago, leaving it to stand as a lone sentinel on an entire city block. A metal dome rose behind it, giving it the look of a huge beetle spread across the too-large parking lot that was surrounded by chainlink fence topped ominously with barbed wire. There were no buildings around, no signs of life anywhere though the noise of cars and trucks were everywhere above us. The effect was eerie. The faded sign out front read "Steel Cycles." J. led me through the front door, into a cramped little shop filled with pieces of chrome and metal that I didn't understand. And old black man leaned against the counter leafing through a catalog. I recognized him from the bar. J. had called him Teach. "She a customer?" Teach asked, though I thought it was painfully clear that I didn't know the first thing about motorcycles.
