He didn’t remove his helmet right away. He simply stood there, broad and unmoving, engine still rumbling behind him like distant thunder. When he finally pulled the helmet free, tattoos became visible across his scalp and down his neck — old ink, faded by time rather than fashion.
People began stepping out of their cars, confusion spreading quickly into irritation.
The funeral director hurried forward.
“Sir, you cannot block a funeral procession.”
The man didn’t respond.
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