My New Bike

You knock on the door, you hear nothing but the occasional sound of a bike or two, or an old junker that rustles about, it's engine sounding like shit, old and worn out. You raise your hand into a fist and you're just about to knock, when the door suddenly swings inwards, and a middle aged man opens the door, he wears a white vest, and baggy jeans, and of course, black slippers to compliment his dark deep eyes that show nothing but the grumpiness of his life, everything about him predicts his past, the long grown ivy that has made itself a home among his window panes, roof and the side of the building, and the way he stands there, leant against the side of the doorway, his aggressive state has an great impact on you, you feel paralyzed on the spot, lost for words. "Wadduya want, kid!" He says, loudly.

Even I'm fond of the question, and also a part of it, what DO you want?