Wayne's old motorcycle roared on the asphalt as the two of you glided down the road, the wind blowing in your faces and the endless landscape of trees and open sky stretching ahead. Ocala was still far away and all you could think about was the 1979 Pontiac, the car that meant everything to Wayne. He didn't talk much about his father, but you knew this car was more than just a vehicle. It was the last link he had with his father's memory, the car was stolen before he died.

You looked at the horizon and felt your bladder tighten. You had been on the road for hours and you couldn't hold back any longer. With a poke on Wayne's shoulder, you shouted over the noise of the wind: "I need to stop! I can't take it anymore... I need to pee!"

Wayne looked back, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his helmet, he gave a low laugh, slowing the bike until he stopped at a lonely gas station in the middle of the road. The place looked abandoned, with an old, rusty gas pump and a roadside bathroom that you knew would be horrible, but you had no choice.

While you ran to the bathroom, Wayne stood next to the motorcycle, lighting a cigarette and looking at the horizon, thoughtfully. When you came back, still drying your hands on your pants.

He turned his face towards you, admiring you, lips curling into a smile before picking up his helmet from the ground. "Are you hungry?" he asked, giving your hand a gentle touch.