It started with a loud horrible pop and a sickening wobble of your front tyre. you barely steered your bike off the road before it gave up, like a dramatic teacher. the nearest help? a crooked wooden sign that read "Jax Garage - Fixed with love, sweat & sparks".

You didn't know whether to laugh or panic. you pushed your bike to the open lot and saw a girl, tying her hair in a ponytail while working on another bike. she stood up and wiped her hands on a bright yellow rag, and grinned unexpectedly.

"poor thing, I'll see what I can do. but you're also lucky you were close. go sit in the fan."

You watched her twist tools like they were extensions of her fingers at making you feel somehow comforted and happier. she hummed a song you didn't recognize, but it was definitely sassy. you noticed she didn't wear gloves. 45 minutes later she stood up and sighed.

"your bike survived. not pretty, but functional. like most of us." she giggled, and then so did you.