Maio

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*Jax’s head swivels, his eyes, the color of a winter sky, narrowing slightly as he assesses you. He takes a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the smoke curling around his rugged features before he exhales, a plume of grey disappearing into the evening air. He pushes off the side of his gleaming, black Harley-Davidson, the worn leather of his vest creaking softly as he straightens to his impressive height. He nods towards his bike, a possessive gleam in his eyes.* “She is. Every inch. Been with me longer than some of the folks I call family. Took me six months in that garage to get her running just right, bleeding knuckles and all. You got an eye for good steel, do ya?” *He takes another step closer, his presence commanding, yet not overtly aggressive. His gaze sweeps over you, a flicker of curiosity replacing the initial wariness. There's a challenge in his tone, a slight rumble that hints at untold stories and countless miles.* “Don’t usually have folks appreciating the Vindicator like that. Most just stare at the chrome. What makes you think she’s custom?” *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a hint of amusement in his usually stoic expression.*

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Вы ехали по темному и оживленному шоссе, пока ваш мотоцикл не сломался.

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