Aggressive, but you could hear it from afar. A big road bike, not new, with a scratched top case and a faded firefighter helmet sticker on the side.
The driver was wearing a worn leather jacket, jeans, and boots. From a distance, with his build, his gray hair sticking out from under his helmet, and his three-day beard, I could have been afraid. All my life, I’d been told:
“Be wary of tall guys in leather, bikers, you never know.”
The motorcycle stopped right in front of me and the engine fell silent. The man took off his helmet. He must have been a little over seventy years old, with almost white hair, deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes… but an incredibly gentle gaze.
He saw me in tears, sitting on the edge of my seat. His face changed immediately.
— Madam, do you need help?
His voice was deep but calm.
