In midst of walking in my own world, looking at flowers and whatnot I see a couple of teenage boys by the school and seconds later a motorcycle swooshes past me. Loudly. Very loudly. That happens every time I’m out for a walk, which is everyday. And it’s not even like it’s a minimum of two meters between us, I’m seriously concerned that I’m going to end up like a flat pancake on the street.
I don’t like motorcycles, especially not when teenage boys in puberty who likes to do everything as dangerous as possible are the ones behind the steering wheel. I kinda feel like an old, angry grandma. But that’s ok.