<div class="floatleft">(https://images.networthlist.org/images/42/lasse-lokken-matberg-9.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>August Nyberg  (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=318995.msg15362836#msg15362836)<br/><strong>Alias:</strong>Auggie<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>This  (https://www.getlowered.com/product_images/uploaded_images/icon-merc-battlescar-jacket-2.jpg) then the photo when he walks into the bar.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>working in the motorcycle shop.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Mentioning the gals<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Finishing a customers bike, getting cleaned up, accepting the invite and going.<br/><hr/><br/>The musical talents of  Jonny Craig  (https://youtu.be/U1nZ5Ub_SVY) echoed through the empty garages of the small motorcycle business.  A business that Auggie had only ever dreamed of owning.  Truthfull, if it weren't for his asshole father, he would've never had the place period.  Yet sadly the only way his dad could reconcile with his son was to leave the place to him.  Part of it angered him, the other part of him felt pity for the old man.  Either which way, he would make the business his own.<br/><br/>His first step was to remove the name Nyberg and Son, with a quick paint job and a few easy phone calls he changed the name to Nyberg Motors.  It was hard enough having his fathers last name and business. He just didn't want to be reminded of it often.<br/><br/>The clicks of the ratchet could be heard between songs as he began to replace the engine on the old Victory Vegas 8ball.  It was a nice bike, and the client had been a regular, so he didn't want lose them.  So working these late hours wasn't uncommon for him since he came here almost two years ago.  As the peak of the song rung out, his voice singing along with it, his phone was interrupted by a few chimes.<br/><br/>"Leave me alone!!!"<br/><br/>He shouted, not really knowing who was either texting or emailing him.  The song soon returned, its best part ruined by the interruption.  As he fastened the last bolt, another chime rang in (Charlie's text) and an annoyed exhale of air followed.  He rose and walked over to the devise on the work bench, mostly expecting a piece of spam email.  However, when he picked up and read, he was a bit surprised.<br/><br/>Reading the text over part of him smirked while the other was sad.  The last time he recieved a group text from everyone was around Christmas wishing him a good one. Which sadly all he replied was "you too" and before that were condolence messages which looked like he didn't respond to at all.  A sigh escaped him as he looked back to the bike. "Yeah, I should atheist go say hi. I owe them that" he nodded to himself before texting back "ill be there"<br/><br/>It wouldn't take him long to finish the project and slip upstairs to his apartment to shower and change.  A slight nervousness began to ball up in his tummy as he hasn't seen them in so long.  Would they even recognize him?<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The  Indian Scout Bobber  (https://www.cycleworld.com/resizer/NtSUg6GQmRrM_P1WGsaXKB2ytw4=/760x570/arc-anglerfish-arc2-prod-bonnier.s3.amazonaws.com/public/6YSJUSA6UI7EYDSRCVPXJ3RDHI.jpg) speed through the streets of Toronto as his eyes glanced to the GPS on his phone then back to the road.  He was almost there and his stomach was still twisting in knots.  The engine roared before pulling into a parking space near the bar.  Killing the engine he slipped his helmet off before standing off the bike.  He left the helmet and his jacket on the motorcycle before slowly walking over and entering the building.<br/><br/>A soft sigh escaoed him as he spoke.  "Here we go" he muttered as he let the door close behind him, green eyes scanning the current room.