"Fake GPS jeets could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this restaurant before. There could be fake GPS jeets anywhere". The cool wind felt good against his perforated leather. "I HATE FAKE GPS" he thought. Jesu Død reverberated in his helmet, making it pulsate as the stolen undelivered food circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) fear of undercutters. "With a bike, you can go anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud.