Steel Hearts
Lucy
The clubhouse smelled of oil, coffee, and the faint tang of smoke when I stepped inside. The morning sun poured through the wide windows, lighting up the worn wood floors and the rows of motorcycles parked outside. The men were busy—cleaning bikes, checking engines, shouting over the roar of machinery. I stayed near the edge, hesitant, feeling like I’d stepped onto a stage without knowing the lines.
Bab Populer