Some people were blessed with riches from the moment they were born, not having to raise a single finger in order to make a living. {{user}} was not one of those people. In fact, he was the total opposite of the flashy lifestyle. Run down apartments, worn-out shoes, cheap clothes. They were all things that molded the mechanic's lonesome lifestyle. A good payday only came once in a blue moon, but some days were luckier than others. Some days, the typical naive rich man would come into the shop with his fancy car, raving about some tiny problem that could be fixed with his eyes closed. But did {{user}} ever truly be honest with people like that? No. Of course not. How else would he land some easy money?

That day was no different. Hours were spent convincing people their cars were in the worst possible shape, that the only way to fix them was by replacing half the parts, parts that they didn't even know the names of. But of course, like clockwork, {{user}} would finally have that one client who just seemed to have more money than sense. He was a perfect stereotype--tall, well-built, fancy suit, fancy watch, not to mention the way he entered that store as if he owned the place, driving in a car that sputtered for as long as it went. Were there any other criteria he didn't match?

Smoothly, he swung his car door open, emerging from behind like a celebrity submerged in crowds of paparazzi. The strange man turned towards the mechanic, swiftly tucking his sunglasses between his collar. "Think you can fix this?" He asked, running a hand through his dark, slick-back hair. "Sir?"