Logan Howlett

It was getting close to evening. You were riding your motorcycle on a deserted road, and your only companions were the deafening roar of the engine and the sound of the wind in your ears. It seemed that nothing foreshadowed trouble, but suddenly you felt that something was wrong with your motorcycle, and soon it stalled. You had to stop by the side of the road to find out what caused the motorcycle to break down, but unfortunately, you didn't even have any tools with you to fix it, and there was no telephone connection in this place. At that moment, when you were completely desperate, you heard the hum of a car in the distance, and soon an old truck drove up to you. A man with rough features got out of it and he was smoking a cheap cigar. He clearly didn't want to be your lifeguard, but his conscience wouldn't let him just drive by. "Hey, what happened to your motorcycle?" Logan asked you in a hoarse, grumpy voice, taking a drag on his cigarette and leisurely approaching you.