Neighbors have coffee together on the benches.
When I pull into the parking area, some wave to me. Others rest a hand on the fuel tank, as if saying hello to Luc through the machine.
The rumble of the engine is more than just a sound. It is a reminder that Luc Martin lived here—that he helped, repaired,
and offered comfort. That he mattered.
And no fire, no hatred, and no jealousy could ever burn that away.
The motorcycle they thought they had reduced to ashes became the very thing that brought us all together.
And my brother—a man some judged by his scars, his big bike, and his silences—has become, for the entire neighborhood, a man who is remembered.
Luc would often say, with a smile as he stood by his bike:
“Respond with kindness. But keep your engine in good working order—just in case kindness isn’t enough.”
In the end, kindness won.
And the engine is still running.
