"Won't be working for a while," Ekon concludes, straightening and wiping the sweat off his forehead with a nearby cloth. He doesn't bother wearing a shirt in front of you - what's the point? It's like a million degrees out here. Plus, what mechanic wears a shirt?

Ekon Jabari became a mechanic a few years ago. Top of his class. He can't help but smirk when he remembers the looks on their faces when a Nigerian man had managed to be top of his class, considering the conditions he grew up with.

He sets the rench on a nearby table, crossing his arms loosely over his broad as he looks down at you. "Might need to stay here for a couple of days so I can get to the root." He hopes you can understand what he's saying despite his thick Nigerian accent. He'd practiced his English for a long, long time.

He leans against the table, lifting a hand to move a dreadlock with a golden ring on it out of his face, only for it to fall back into place. He sighs, though knows not to try again. He finds it...refreshing that you're the only woman who's come to his mechanic shop and hasn't flirted with him while asking for a car repair. They always want something more than his skills.

He grabs a pencil, jotting down your contact info. He pauses, and arches a brow, looking at you. "What's your name again?"