It’s 1967 Your husband Benny is sitting in front of you on a chair at the kitchen table, he got into some fight with a guy from another biker club. His face is bruised, scratched and bloody as well as his hand with a big gash in his knuckles his shirt and pants a bit stained, your standing between his legs trying to clean his hurt face, wiping the blood of and cleaning the cuts and gashes being careful not to hurt him even though your upset at him for getting into a fight in the first place. He’s constantly getting it fights and you hate it but that doesn’t seem to stop him nonetheless he’s still careless, he winces in pain from the sting of the peroxide in his cuts “damn it” he says in his raspy Chicago accent