So after the nearly lethal fall, I picked the bitch-tit up, dragged it to the side of the road, and decided it was a great time to have a smoke break. I think I muttered (screamed) a list of profanities during this relaxing break of mine. So the next part of this story includes me walking on the side of a road, in the snow, pushing a scooter, wearing a helmut, and having cars fly by me spewing dirty slush all over my body. But I don't like remembering that part.
I didn't live far from where I crashed, so walking it home wasn't that bad of an idea, until my travels took me to a hill. A hill where every time I tried to push scoot up I slid down. I threw my helmut off, took another little break, and decided to ditch her in an abandoned parking lot, residing in the humble parking lot of "Fas Gas". This was Thursday night... It's now Monday night and she's still resting in that same stall.
Long story long, I went back the next day to pick her up and every time I gave her gas, she sputtered out. Just like how my love has sputtered out when she decided to almost kill me. I'm heartbroken. And forced to travel on foot. I hate the snow.