Martin reads with satisfaction. Yesterday a real biker came into the shop. Officer class, posh, not pretentious, he wanted a spare part for a Kawasaki ZX. Martin had to laugh. "Sorry, we just do stuff for couriers... You know little Hondas." The guy had biked all the way across Soviet Asia to Mongolia. He was planning to bike up through California and the redwoods, up into Oregon. Martin ached with jealousy and gave him an address for high performance parts.
Martin was just about to feel depressed, when, outside the window, the guy looked both ways up the street. Then he nipped into the massage parlour next next door. Martin's jealousy burst like an ear infection. I suppose he's got performance parts, Martin thought. He grins, and goes back to his newspaper.
The Indy's got a competition for an Alfa Romeo Spider. Things could be looking up.