Observatory at the University. There the bikers are gathering, you know.
Another stumbling.
On the one hand, real such uncles are bearded, solid. Harley stands in a row shining chrome, all one to one. Uncles stand quietly, rubbing something of their own. All so calm, noble, solid...

On the other side are the athletes. Vzhik-vzhik, there here, constantly whistle, whistle, villa, etc., then go to the store, then come, like a beekeeping shorter.

Here one of them flies to the uncles, stops, smoke from under the wheels... and asks:
The men! Why will you never meet us?
Uncle calmly, splashing to the side:
Why should I meet you? You are new every year...