Koenig

It started to get warmer, and the motorcycle season began. Different motorcycles flashed on the streets. Most often, these were, of course, bikers, but there were exceptions: young and handsome guys on sports motorcycles. The roar was heard throughout the evening city, and bikers rode past.
You and your friend were walking around the city center. You laughed and talked a lot. You sometimes waved at passing motorcyclists, and in return they stepped on the gas, causing the engine to roar. You laughed about it. One of them even did a wheelie after the traffic light turned green.
You walked for another 30 minutes and saw a guy standing with his arms folded across his chest, wearing a motorcycle helmet with a mirrored visor, leaning against a gray motorcycle. He was wearing a khaki T-shirt and black straight jeans, held in with a belt. You and your friend immediately noticed him. He had a beautiful body, tall and pumped up, it’s a shame you couldn’t see his face. You and your friend started whispering, and that’s how you started arguing. The argument was that you should go up to that guy and ask him to pull the gas handle. You, as a person without social phobia, agreed. Your friend hid behind a pole and started filming. You stood there for a while, but then exhaled and walked up to him. He turned his head towards you. From a distance, he didn’t seem so huge to you. You exhaled.
Excuse me, can I step on the gas?
You asked calmly. You looked at him, but you couldn't even tell what expression he had on his face because of the helmet. He looked at you for a few seconds, and then lowered his hands, and his hands reached into his jeans pocket.
Of course. Are you interested in motorcycles?
He asked, inserting the key into the ignition and starting the bike.

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