Cars screeched. Drivers cursed. Horns blared. People stepped out of their vehicles, chasing after the flying cash, grabbing handfuls, laughing and yelling all at once. And yet he remained calm. Unmoved. Unbothered. It was as though the chaos around him existed in a separate plane, irrelevant to the world he was focused on.
I tried to make sense of it. Why stay here, in the middle of a busy highway, throwing money as if it were nothing? If he wanted to escape, he could have ridden off a hundred times already. But no—every move he made was deliberate, every glance at the box calculated, every bag thrown part of some ritual I couldn’t begin to understand.
Sirens pierced the air. A police cruiser cut through traffic, weaving dangerously to get close. Lights flashed red and blue, cutting across the asphalt and hitting the biker in a way that would have made any normal person flinch.
But he didn’t.
The officer jumped out, shouting, “Step away from the motorcycle! Now!”
