![]() ![]() “I’m out, tell Joey not to touch the Camaro, I know he’ll mess it up.” “Boss,” he calls out, not looking towards his office. After he scrubs away as much mess as he can he thumbs at his nose, resisting the urge to wipe his face again. The edge of his face twitches, but nothing can be gleaned from it. With a slight bounce he turns to wipe his hands on a rag. The humid air sticks to him, pushing down everything but the fire in his soul. ![]() ![]() The last days of July carried with them a storm system, shutting everything in. The heat barely relieves as the full force of the shop’s industrial fan hits him. ![]() Satisfied, he pushes himself out from under the car. The way they split is still obvious, shiny with new flesh. A coating of dirt shakes free, settling onto his just-healed joints. He knocks his knuckles experimentally against a pipe. A few customers have assumed he’s worked here his whole life, rather than just under three years. Each twist of the wrist and tool switch is as easy as it is masterful. His fingers, as slick as they are, never slip. The car he’s wheeled under almost burns at the touch. Occasionally, an expression will flash on his face but disappear before it can be deciphered. He’s not frowning exactly, though not smiling either. A smudge of black is left above his eyebrow, catching the new bead which forms there. He runs the back of his hand across it, smearing sweat and a line of oil. ![]()
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June 2023
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