a working man’s work

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he lifted his head from under the hood. Squinting in the bright sun, he could just barely see a speck further down the road that might be another car, might be coming his way. Likely so, anyway. This was the last stop for most drivers venturing out into the desert and first stop for those coming out.

People from town came here too, though, wanting their cars fixed. Best mechanic around, they claimed. Not for much longer, he snorted, not if …

He shook himself. No time for foolishness. Got to get this transmission fixed, do a few more tune ups and whatever that pretty little Camaro that just pulled in needed.

A working man’s work is never done.

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