The mysterious young guy on the red motorcycle adjusted his black leather mask and stood up. He stood in the middle of the central square, observed the ordinary life of people. Rick was jealous. Oh, how badly he dreamed of one day feeling the breath of wind in his golden hair or the warm rays of the sun on his cheeks. With a heavy sigh, he zipped up his leather jacket and was about to go into the grocery store when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a troupe of artists who had come from America.