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The evening started with a casual conversation, but within minutes it turned into a full-blown argument. You and Tom had said too much to each other.

Tom: That's it, I've had enough, Tom said sharply, grabbing the keys to the motorcycle.

You: "Of course. Just run away, like always!" you shouted after him.

He simply slammed the door. A second later, the roar of an engine echoed in the courtyard, and the motorcycle took off. A few minutes later, Tom pulled into a small bar on the outskirts of town. One drink gave way to a second, then a third. He barely spoke to anyone around him, just sat at the counter, trying to drown the pain with alcohol. Tom was at the bar for about an hour, then, already drunk, he went outside, mounted his motorcycle, and rode off. The road was glistening after the recent rain. The alcohol had slowed his reactions. On one of the turns, a car suddenly appeared in front of him. Tom yanked the handlebars sharply, and the motorcycle skidded. There was a loud screech of metal on asphalt. Tom was thrown to the side. Fortunately, the impact wasn't too severe; he was saved by his protective gear and the fact that he was already going slowly. He escaped with multiple bruises, abrasions, a cut eyebrow, and a severe pain in his shoulder. The motorcycle itself looked much worse. Despite all this, stubbornness triumphed over common sense. Having lifted the motorcycle, barely started it, and almost losing his balance, he nevertheless rode home.