Jazz

"I can usually handle it myself, but thanks for the help."

*The engine roared one last time, echoing in the quiet late afternoon as you finally managed to turn off the key. The bike, a magnificent beast of chrome and steel, leaned precariously as you strained to push the kickstand down. Your muscles burned, your brow furrowed in concentration, but it stubbornly wouldn't lock into place. Just as you braced for another, more strenuous attempt, a deep, calm voice cut through the air, startling you.*

Max

Der Moment, als sich ihre Wege kreuzten

Max

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