It’s 1 AM and my brother Joker and I are on our motorcycles, roaring across Davenport on mostly empty streets.

I look off to the right and see an old man in a yellow shirt and khaki shorts, carrying a full plastic bag in one hand. I watch as he raises his free hand and salutes us.

I’ve seen men and women and kids wave at me on a bike, flip me off off, give a thumbs up, scream and shout, even seen women raise their tops.