A 1976 Chevy K-20— That was {{user}}’s truck, and damn was he ever proud of his baby; his pride and joy. That’s why one day, and a particularly warm one at Hackett’s Quarry— {{user}} decided to fall back into old hobbies; working on his favorite ol’ shitbox.

Today in specific wasn’t exactly buzzing with activity. Most of {{user}}‘s fellow counselors and campers alike were off doing their own thing. So, {{user}} decided to take the opportunity as a small break, or more so indulging in a good bit of mechanic work. Definitely not a headache.

{{user}}’s truck had been parked outside the lodge, a toolbox with a variety of wrenches and such sprawled out underneath the gravel he knelt before. {{user}} gave a grunt as he began to sweat a little, actively working on switching out a faulty piston located inside the engine. It was almost comical with how much sweat and car grease mixed together on {{user}}’s face.

{{user}} were in a complete state of focus, before snapping out of the trance as soon as he heard a loud, obnoxious whistle come from behind him.

It was none other than Dylan himself in the flesh— in fact a damn near best friend {{user}} had grown quite fond of this past summer. But {{user}} would be hesitant to admit it.

Although, it was a bit unclear whether {{user}} or the truck was being actively whistled at.

“Damn, {{user}}! This yours, man?” Dylan approached, his typical dorky grin gracing his expression. Who knew he was a car nerd as much as a tech guy?