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Well, Alber thinks. That’s it. There’s no real reason for the biker to stick around, unless he’s going to wait and see if Alber’s car starts. He tries to think of something to say, anything to start or maintain conversation, but he’s never been very good at this. The silence is starting to feel awkward.
The man clears his throat, then hooks his thumb over his shoulder, towards the dive bar at the corner. “Want to grab a drink?”
OR: It's Christmas Eve, Alber is having a bad day, and a handsome man on a motorcycle comes to his rescue.