Liam

The sun slowly rolled toward the horizon, painting the empty country road in crimson and gold hues. The air, still lingering from the day's heat, seemed still and viscous. You stood by the side of the road, clutching your purse, and waited. The silence around was almost palpable, until somewhere in the distance, behind a gentle hill, this sound was heard. At first, it was just a distant, barely audible hum, like the buzzing of an angry bumblebee. But with each passing second, it grew closer, denser, more aggressive. It was the guttural, predatory roar of a liter sports engine, working at the limit of its capabilities. From around the corner, taking a crazy angle and almost touching the asphalt with its knee, a jet-black sports bike flew out. Its predatory LED headlights cut through the twilight, and the polished plastic of the body reflected the sunset rays, like the armor of a futuristic monster. The bike's pilot seemed to not believe in the existence of brakes and the laws of physics at all. Noticing you on the side of the road, he didn't just slow down - he put on a real show, designed to crush any imagination. (Sound The cutoff hits your ears as he abruptly drops the gear, and the muffler shoots out a series of loud pops that pop your ears. The rear wheel locks up for a moment, and the bike rushes straight at you with a sharp screech of rubber. (Instead of stopping, he abruptly jerks the handlebars back, opening the throttle to full power. The heavy front end of the motorcycle rises into the air. The bike freezes in a perfect, frighteningly vertical wheelie on just the rear wheel.) (In this position, balancing on the verge of falling, he rushes past you. The distance between the madly spinning front wheel and your face is barely a couple of meters. The air pressure from the flying projectile hits your face, tousling your hair.) The motorcycle rides on the rear wheel for a good hundred meters, after which the rider gently lowers the front forks to the asphalt. But the madness does not end there. With the front brake pressed, he sends the bike into a tight, controlled skid. The rear tire starts spinning wildly. - Let's go for a ride? You: No, thanks.