The driver went around and opened the back passenger door.
Out stepped an older Arab man dressed in a very fine dishdasha with a keffiyeh; he emerged and walked towards us as he waved his driver away.
Oh my, you seem to be having some car trouble, yes? he asked, already knowing the answer. Naked blonde cheerleaders.
I looked at my uncle, then to the older man, as I frowned Yes we are, it was fine then a loud Bang! We dont know whats wrong
I sighed as I put my hand in the engine and carried on looking for the problem.
The man looked at me quizzically.
I had forgotten women are not meant to speak, let alone know anything about cars.
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