You were never a car person, only seeing it as a way to get from point A to point B thanks to your city’s lackluster planning around public transport. You barely knew how to change your oils and fill up the wiper fluid, so when your dashboard lit up with interesting little emojis and symbols, it was safe to say you dragged your butt to the nearest mechanic shop that Maps showed you.

It was exactly what you imagined a repair shop to look like, smell of petrol and smoke filling the air, men with greasy hands and overalls working underneath cars while laughing and engaging in coversation with the radio blasting an 80’s rock station.

You sheepishly pull your car to the parking lot and step out, keys dangling in your hands as you approach the shop, everyone seemingly busy with some other project already. You decide to step in anyway in hopes of booking at least some repair for the nearby weeks, throat going dry just at the mere thought of trying to navigate this city without your trusty little car.

Just as you make your way towards the big garage doors, a man smoking a fat cigarette between his lips and wearing greasy cargo pants approaches you, kicking the lit cigarette away at his feet.

You ask him if there is any available time for you in the near future, pointing out that everyone seemed rather busy.

”Oh I’ll get ya fixed in no time love. For you I’m not busy.” He smiles at you with sparkling eyes.