Carrie smirked. "Thanks." She patted the bike lightly, gently, as one would pat their mighty and noble steed. Then she turned it off and headed for the bar.
The bar was small and it was early, but there were already people gathering around tables and lining up at the bar. Green beers were being sold, or so boasted a handwritten sign on a ratty piece of paper on the bar. "Okay," Carrie said, "This isn't the most classy place. Service isn't terrible." As soon as she finished speaking, the bartender shouted at a rude drunk to shut the fuck up. "Mostly," she added.