CHAPTER 8
Smoke billowed from the old Holden in front of him and he could smell the acrid fumes even through his full-face helmet. He held his breath. The traffic lights were taking forever. A horn beeped in his ear and he looked up. A truck idled in the lane beside him and on the passenger’s open window rested a beefy, hairy arm. Its owner grinned.
‘Hullo darling!’ He shouted down in falsetto.
‘Hullo gorgeous,’ Reuben mouthed back and pursed his lips into a kiss. Surprise and confusion flitted over the other’s face. The lights changed, Reuben twisted his grip on the throttle and shot ahead. You had to give this little baby its due – though it was only 50cc, it was nifty in traffic. Even if it did sound like a swarm of enraged mosquitoes. And in one respect, the only respect, its colour
