There wasn’t a single day you weren’t excited to run out of ice, so that you could find an excuse for yourself to descend down the steps into the parking garage. It was a beauty. A sleek black Harley Davidson parked in a spot close to the ice machine. The motorcycle wasn’t a new model, yet it was in pristine condition. Car doors slamming and distinct chatter echoed across the apartment complex’s parking garage. Your footsteps felt loud in the quiet space as you perched in front of the ice machine with your ice bucket.

It seemed like the motorcyclist wasn’t back yet though as you filled your bucket full of ice. Usually the bike had been parked around this time. Your fascination with the vehicle wasn’t to be creepy. Motorcycles had always been an interest of yours, so it was hard not to admire the beauty when you could. The roar of an engine howled as it skidded into the parking garage and quickly into a nearby parking spot. Why do some engines need to be so loud? Truly, it hurt your ears as it roared. Thankfully, it only lasted for a brief moment.

As you looked over your shoulder, you saw the Harley Davidson, but this time you got to see the man who rode the motorbike. His ripped black jeans showed parts of his tanned skin, with his gray v neck t-shirt matching his darker color choices. His black leather jacket looked protective, and maybe a little bulky. It was cooler out today though, so his choice to wear something warmer wasn’t a bad option. It wasn’t even until he stood in front of you, taking off his helmet you realized that you had been staring at the poor man.

“I didn’t think I was that good lookin’. Ya must have a starin’ problem.” The man rasped out teasingly, pulling a cigarette out of the pack he had stowed away in his pocket. It wasn’t interesting watching as he lit the cigarette and took a drag. “Or are ya hoggin’ all the ice?” Nicholas continued, a lazy smirk playing across the tattoo artists face as he stared down at you from where you were crouched in front of the ice machine.