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Gets me happy, though – freedom, yeah? “Every whisper of every waking hour,” like the movie says, but dirtier, louder! Surprised me once, found an old carburetor in a brothel bin – what the hell? Someone’s fixin’ cars between bonks? Mental. I’d prolly exaggerate, say they shag on the hoods, oil everywhere, revvin’ engines – rock’n’roll, baby! Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – she’d hate it, but I’d drag her for a laugh.

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After that, I head to the workshop on the corner of Church and Market. The machines are screamin’ for attention. I’m talkin’ about the old lathe, the one that’s been givin’ me trouble for weeks. I swear, it’s like it has a mind of its own. I’m tryin’ to fix it, and it just won’t cooperate. I’m gettin’ mad, like, “C’mon, you piece of junk!” I can feel the sweat drippin’ down my back.

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