Raised My Mates
When the boys see me bringing my damaged bike into the building, they block my path; now I'm one against two.
"Get out of my way, guys, I need to repair my lady here," I say, but they don't move, so I knock them down with the bike, and they move to dodge my insane swings.
"Isn't your batcrap crazy?" I roll my eyes, like a mother, like a daughter, I assume. My God, I hope not, because I'm about to commit literary suicide.
Bab Populer