It’s a warm summer afternoon when I push open the door to the repair shop. The air is thick with oil and metal, a sharp scent hanging heavy around me. My helmet rests under my arm as I step inside, ripped denim brushing against my legs. My eyes move over the cluttered shelves and scattered tools, taking it all in for the first time, cautious and guarded. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, more out of habit than anything, and let the low hum of the place settle around me.