You get three for the price of three. Bargain.
Ezy rider and driftin', Mr. G is a 6 and may never be a 9. A highway chile perennially burning the midnight lamp.
On-time like the New York Transit Line, laid back like your Papa's porch recliner, Mark yarns lines through chord-changes like silk thread through South Indian pearls.
This one is still feral. Lured in from the wild on a promise of macha, we require a permit to release him behind a kit. And bail bond to get him back.