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Summary
“So, how long do you think itll take to fix it, all things considered?” I ask, knowing the answer is not gonna be pretty.
“Three months is what I’m gonna guess, four at most. We don’t have many of these fancy things round these parts, and it’s only me and my son working here. Family business, y’know?” I just sigh. I hand over my business card (Dr. Michael Robinavitch, M.D) and get the paperwork all organised, resigning myself to just catching the next greyhound bus out of here and telling him to keep the damn thing.
But, I don’t. Some weird part of me is too fixated on the plan I made, and the fact that that plan revolves around this bike, and as I hand over a large chunk of the cash I had bought with me, I think to myself, well what’s another four months anyway?
~
Or, the one where Dr Micheal "Robby" Robinavitch breaks down in rural Montana, a few weeks into his 'Sabbatical'.