I stand in Danny's Garage, it's owned by this fellow with a red tinged quarter inch beard. The thumb of his weighty, cracked hand is confidently hooked into his already strained jeans. His flaccid belly is stretched taut with a woodland camo shirt and is indented where his right thumb fits in. Beer he bought cheaper than "that bottled water" is in the left hand, crusty and torn jeans sag at the crotch pulling the eye down to scuffed steal toed boots that used to be dark shiny brown and are matte tan now. He stands hips jutted forward, hair in slick dark blond clumps strings out from under a day-glow orange hat, gathering into a mullet that looks like it was shot and applied to to back of his head in the 80's and has been decaying ever since. His shoulders are collapsed forward because he's relaxed, in his domain. He's the king of chaos and stuck to 2"x4" studs he has a harem of naked women torn from tawdry magazines, all inflamed for his desire. (Don't judge, greasy guys need love at their command too.)
He's standing in his garage where he does dubious shade tree mechanicing. He loves Fords cause his daddy loved them and they ain't no foreign junk and that's all he needs to know, ever, period, don't bring it up again. Snap-On sockets, the only thing of quality to be seen, are hanging out of the open drawers of his red, 5'4" tool box (I know because I stand by it). Black, limp rags hang from the corner and are piled all over a darkly stained cool gray floors, scattered with clay cat litter that scuffs when I move. Old cylinders of various welding gases stand in a corner, not sure what color they started life as but the scratches showing different layers of paint and ending in rust. Cars are in various stages of being repaired or torn apart. Parts from all the cars mingle like it's a cocktail party and they're hell bent on going home with a different car then they came with.
I've stood here before, not at these exact coordinates, but I've been here assessing the general view of the area. I've stood here doing the complex math required to extrapolate what it means about the people who own and work in the place and what it's going to cost me to leave with a car that runs and drives.
- This is simply a character sketch I want to save for a future story, our cars are fine. My mechanic is far classier and better looking than the quality one described. :) My thanks goes to S for the business name.
