Simple? What was that supposed to mean?

With a frown, Desmond reassembled himself on his bike, turning the key and getting a clunky noise in return. He stared down at it, turned the key again, and got the same fruitless whir of the machinery before it silenced again. He leaned over, looking at the small dash of his motorcycle. The gas needle pointed mockingly at E. Great. I forgot to fill up.

"Shit," he groaned. "I can't believe this."