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And at that moment I inadvertently noticed a reflection of myself on the shiny polished side of a nearby car. It reflected the girl that was at the crossroads, the man and the red motorcycle. The same one… But I myself was not reflected there. But here I am, and the hand of a black-haired girl, who, as I understood from the overheard conversation, is called Margo, lies on my back. Wait, why in the reflection is her hand resting on the curve of the black Kawasaki seat?

The soul in a panic rushed from side to side, but was unable to escape from the captivity of the metal.

“No, no, this can’t be…” I mentally screamed.

And inside of me, the engine roared from overflowing emotions. Now deaf, then torn, intermittently. The way my heart would beat at a critical moment.

– What’s wrong with him? Misha exhaled hoarsely.

– Are you asking me? Margo chuckled nervously. – Which one of us is special? You or me?

– You need to pull the key out of the ignition and disassemble the engine and…

The threat washed over her in an icy wave of fear and disgust. I don’t want to be touched, let alone taken apart. And so it feels like part of my leg is lying on the floor. Apart from me! Creepy!