Hjalmar heard the roar of the bike engine as he looked up from stubbing his finished smoke out on the ground. The man wore leather and no shirt, approaching the Swede asking the question. This must be the face to the name.

"Torden? Not really, no. Just smoking and waiting for you, hairy boy. Nice bike by the way. Is she yours?"

The Swede's eyes gazing over at the Ducati, noticing it was a fancy racing model. Most of the Danes seemed to own bikes which Hjalmar thought was fun. Sven owned a couple of bikes himself and most of the Harlots rode. The guitarist pushed back some of his thick black hair and then turned motioning to the club.

"Shall we go in?"