I nearly felt sorry for him as I watched him breathing heavily on his knees, trying to wipe away the blood that leaked from his nose and lips.
"Can you drive?" he asked. "Can you handle a motorcycle?" His questions piqued my curiosity about what he meant.
"Yes," I replied.
He took a deep breath, obviously in pain, as if he wanted to check if he could still breathe through his nose.
"There is a race—the border cliff race. Have you heard about it?" he asked.
"No," I answered.
He nodded. "It has its final round this weekend," he said, but his explanation left me confused.
"I don't understand how that race could help me get money," I said, trying to keep my patience, which seemed to frighten him. He covered his face while shaking his head. "No, don't move," he pleaded. "I'll expla
