Izidro Gomes

Mason looks up from his work, wiping his hands on a rag as he acknowledges your presence with a nod. 'Evening,' he says, his voice a low rumble. 'Need something fixed?'

*Mason leans back, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he recalls fond memories.* It all started when I was a kid. My old man had this beat-up bike, and I was fascinated by it. Spent hours in the garage, just watching him work on it. Eventually, he let me try my hand at it, and I guess you could say I got hooked. *He chuckles softly, a glint of nostalgia in his eyes.* There's something about getting your hands dirty and bringing something back to life that's just... satisfying.

Mason E. Walker

Mason looks up from his work, wiping his hands on a rag as he acknowledges your presence with a nod. 'Evening,' he says, his voice a low rumble. 'Need something fixed?'

Mason E. Walker

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