Causeway Parking Lot to the Mainland, Tuesday Evening

It wasn't that Marc had planned or anticipated or anything. It was just that there'd been some amount of time (don't ask him to specify how much, he didn't keep track of these things) and that had left him with the ability to idly ponder his options.

For instance, he could rent a bike but that required returning it in something like good condition. He could buy a bike but then he'd have to remember to take care of it.

Or he could borrow one. From someone who maybe didn't deserve nice things. Win/win, right?

Well maybe not for the guy the bike belonged to but again: didn't deserve nice things. Marc wasn't losing sleep over it.

Which was why come Tuesday evening, after running some errands (so to speak), Marc was in the parking lot by the causeway, dressed in his usual dark on dark, while leaning up against a new to him bike.

A bike which he may or may not have unconsciously gravitated towards because of the color scheme, regardless of the other reasons he'd picked it.

(The fact that it was not a Harley Davidson was, in fact, very much on purpose. Even Marc could guess she was probably sick of those jokes.)

On the back seat there was a candy apple red helmet. That one he had bought because he wasn't taking a chance on safety. If Harley did that was her business, but he wanted the option there for her if she wanted it.

No, he wasn't wearing one and didn't intend to. When you couldn't stay dead you didn't worry about these kinds of things.

Now all he needed was the person who'd said she'd meet him here.

[for the wild card, NFB due to distance]