Classic motorcycles are just like women: they constantly require love, care, respect and attention. If you don't give them that, you get more lazier than you can handle at the most annoying moments. Okay, if you know that, it will never happen to you. Yet? FAIL!
My good twin had received too little attention lately and he took revenge. He started to falter more often.
With all that hitting and bumping, the ride began to look like something that fell under the law on gambling. The engine started to falter more and more. It started raining.
I rolled out in a parking lot where someone was sitting on a bench next to a car. That was possibly the profit of that evening, because I had cigars and GSM on board, but I had forgotten my lighter. And if you can view your problems through the smoke of a cigar, then life is always more manageable.
I went to the banker to ask if he still had a car with a lighter. Such a car is the best way to never forget your lighter, but it takes a lot of clumsiness on the motorcycle.
The banker turned out to be one of the nicer modeled and was actually crying. While it was already raining. Because you never know what deep emotions are released when you start showing interest in crying women, I asked if she had a lighter.
She gave me a glassy look. The harsh lighting above her did unfriendly things with her face. I decided for some empathy. The emotional approach because women are so good at emotions. “I asked if you have a lighter. My relationship with my motorcycle is currently in a dip. So I have to have lighter. For a cigar. That calms down. Do you want a cigar too? ”
The crybaby gasped for air a few times. I was reminded of the carp that was kidnapped from the pond by a fundamentalist heron.
She shrank back. "Are you crazy or something?" Do you have to ask. You're crying in the rain. As if it isn't wet enough already. ”I shouldn't have said that. A disastrous, extensive relationship story came. Sjon de Mol would immediately have made an emo program out of it.
By the way, I heard a lot of "I" in the story. As a not really involved party, it is useful to respond to these kinds of phenomena by making consenting sounds and tilting your head a bit. Then it looks like you're listening. I learned that from Wammes, our dog. Guilty looking, you should learn that from your dog. Then you get away with everything for the rest of your life.
Sitting on your crotch licking is a lesser dog example. If you are going to try, keep the Rugpoli number to hand. In the meantime I still had no lighter, but something else came to mind.
Under my buddy I always have a hip flask cask strength whiskey of one percent or 65. For emergencies and disinfection. "Wait a second". I grabbed my first aid bottle, filled the cap and said: “Drink. That will make you feel better ”.
After the second measuring cap she was no longer sad but angry. “See you now. You just had to be reset. But driving is not that handy anymore. I'll put my moped aside, take you home and take the train myself if I'm not too late for that. And then you go into your basket and let the dick of a guy of yours sit comfortably. ”
“Cock from an ex-boyfriend? A guy ?! I can't even think of guys without getting sick! But I never want to see my bitch again! ”Ai. Apparently I hadn't really listened, despite my tilted head and nod. I was allowed to bring her home. She thanked me without giving me a hand. Did not take me to the station. Fortunately I was on time for the last train.
The next day I picked up my bike what the Flemish people call so 'a remorkje'. The coating in the tank appeared to have started for itself and bobbed into the gasoline in jelly-like sheets. But that problem was solved quickly.