Steve, who was riding shotgun, turned to me and ominously said, "That can only mean something bad."
Sighing, I wound my window down as the biker gestured frantically towards the back of the car.
Yegawds, did I not shut my car trunk?
Or did I leave the cover off the fuel tank? (Again...)
"You have a flat tire," the biker yelled over traffic noise, "better change it before its too late."Wha..?
After half an hour of me sobbing into my steering wheel, and Steve calling his friends for help, he finally managed to get directions to the nearest car workshop.
Sleazy workshop man hard-sold me a new tire even though I had an extra tire in my trunk.
Oh well, 10 minutes and S$75 later, I pulled out of the workshop, and drove off into the setting sun with Steve.
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