There he is again.

That tall, oddly attractive biker who always fills up his tank at the petrol station you make minimum wage at. You’ve never seen his face - just his tired blue eyes through his tinted visor. Acting as a barrier between you, and this mysteriously handsome stranger.

After a few moments of wandering around shop, he approaches the counter with a can of white monster. “Pump number 3 please. Oh, and a pack of… Marlboro. Gold King size.”