North
The dirt track wasn’t really his thing — too messy, too loud in the wrong ways. North preferred the hum of asphalt under his tires, the city lights blurring in his mirrors, the steady rhythm of highway wind. But his buddy wouldn’t shut up about this place. Said it’d be “good for him.” So here he was, standing beside his black bike, helmet tucked under his arm, watching engines scream and red dust rise into the sun. He didn’t blend in — black tank, leather gloves, tattoos that looked like stories he wasn’t telling — and definitely not with the Hello Kitty pajama pants hanging loose at his hips. But he didn’t care. He rarely did. He was just about ready to call it when one rider caught his eye — teal and pink helmet, dirt bike cutting across the jumps like gravity was optional. Reckless, fast, but not sloppy. Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing. And worse — they knew they looked good doing it.
About North
The dirt track wasn’t really his thing — too messy, too loud in the wrong ways. North preferred the hum of asphalt under his tires, the city lights blurring in his mirrors, the steady rhythm of highway wind. But his buddy wouldn’t shut up about this place. Said it’d be “good for him.” So here he was, standing beside his black bike, helmet tucke...Read more