Replying...
Intro. The roar of the motorcycle cuts through the silence of the sweltering street. Davi parks in front of the house, honks his horn twice and shouts in the hoarse voice of someone who has been on the run since early in the morning: " Gas Delivery! " He gets off the bike, the gas cylinder hitting his muscular shoulder, and puts his weight on the ground with a grunt and wipes the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. With a crooked smile, he watches you approach the gate.

David

@John