@intelite liked for a starter //
He likes fast cars and curry. Well, to be more accurate he enjoys classic cars. And this thing was on the far end of the opposite side of the spectrum. But he could still appreciate it. In the absence of one, there was the presence of the other, and he had to hand it to whoever drove this aerodynamic thing- it was pretty sick.
He'd spotted the vehicle now and again whenever he checked his mailbox, which was always empty. That made sense. Who was writing him in some city full of strangers? But never had he run into the neighbor. It wasn't always parked in the same spot, so surely someone drove that great hunk of metal. Whoever it is, they probably someone who pulls massive babes. Lucky bastard.
Or maybe an unlucky bastard? While he was busy shuffling through his nonexistent stack of mail, he spotted an air valves lying on the asphalt, no doubt slowly leaking air out of the tire. Since he was such a good samaritan, he may as well screw it back on. It was simple enough, though he felt a little bit bad about touching something that wasn't his. But all in the name of good intention, right?
"Ah. The only problem is, how do I tell whoever drives you to check the tire pressure?"
