[There's nobody in the world he cares for most. There's no draw to stay in the shop for the biker, and he'd decided to leave. But not before smoking the last of his Lucky Strikes, leaned against the windows of the hokey little shop.
He's almost done after minutes pass by, flipping his helmet back down as the cig burns to the filter. That's when he hears the shattering, the clinking of things being tossed. The biker glances over his shoulder to look at what might be causing the ruckus. Flicking the smoldering stub he has left to the ground he stares. There's-- someone looking like a shitty David Lee Roth impersonator breaking things.
This is funny. Funny enough to step back in, maybe dinging a little bell on the door.]
no subject
He's almost done after minutes pass by, flipping his helmet back down as the cig burns to the filter. That's when he hears the shattering, the clinking of things being tossed. The biker glances over his shoulder to look at what might be causing the ruckus. Flicking the smoldering stub he has left to the ground he stares. There's-- someone looking like a shitty David Lee Roth impersonator breaking things.
This is funny. Funny enough to step back in, maybe dinging a little bell on the door.]
That works better in a grocery store...