Post by Mesa Coal on Jul 26, 2013 8:05:15 GMT -5
*Originally posted on ARPC boards on 4/16/13*
She flipped over in a daze, rolling just far enough to catch the alarm with the edge of her hand. The loud buzz ended and she wiped her face to get the sleep out. Sitting up, she tugged the mauve comforter down and set foot on the worn carpet. She scrunched up her toes feeling the old strands unravel at the slightest tug. It, like so many other things in her utility apartment, was on the verge of falling apart. Barefoot, she padded across dingy off-white room to the left. The cracked tile of the kitchen sink and counter top, took up less than half the length of the wall. Another quarter was occupied by an electric stove from the 70’s, leaving only enough room for a small fridge that came to her thighs. Since counter space was at a premium, the coffee pot took position on top of the fridge. Burning her finger on the stream of hot water she filled the pot and dumped it into the machine. She flicked the button to turn it on and crossed back to her bed. Kneeling down she dragged the bottom most drawer out and rummaged through for a pair of jean. Spring in Arizona meant a short lived lull before you could bake just as easily in the shadows as you could an oven. Coffee done, she slid the orange tank on and pulled her hair back. She took a quick sip and inhaled the scent before and tossing the styrofoam cup, that was still mostly full, into the trash.
The shop was less than ten minutes away but sometimes it felt closer. Today, on her day off when she had better places to be, was one of those days. Reg, her boss, sat with his feet propped and his ankles crossed. His oil covered uniform hung on his frame like a suit that was 4 sizes too big. And his hair was in a loose salt and pepper ponytail that reminded her more of Woodstock and less of Motor city.
“Did you get that clutch in?” She passed him without waiting for an answer. She knew it was going to be a no anyway. It was Sunday and Reg didn’t get jack in on Sunday’s. She half wondered why she was here and then remembered. Because Reg doesn’t want to be. That might have bugged her if she hadn’t been promised part ownership starting next month.
“The drive shaft on that Charger has to come off.” Reg called behind her. She winced. That meant she was going to be here a lot longer than ten minutes. Sighing she grabbed her socket set from the wall and the air gun from the corner. She splayed out across the Creeper and used her heels to dig in. She pushed herself under the Dark Green Poly paint with practiced ease. She was halfway thru unscrewing the bolts when she heard a creak of metal. She froze and looked at the lift above her. It seemed to be holding steady but it was always better to check. She never got to move an inch farther as the Lift came down in a rush.
She flipped over in a daze, rolling just far enough to catch the alarm with the edge of her hand. The loud buzz ended and she wiped her face to get the sleep out. Sitting up, she tugged the mauve comforter down and set foot on the worn carpet. She scrunched up her toes feeling the old strands unravel at the slightest tug. It, like so many other things in her utility apartment, was on the verge of falling apart. Barefoot, she padded across dingy off-white room to the left. The cracked tile of the kitchen sink and counter top, took up less than half the length of the wall. Another quarter was occupied by an electric stove from the 70’s, leaving only enough room for a small fridge that came to her thighs. Since counter space was at a premium, the coffee pot took position on top of the fridge. Burning her finger on the stream of hot water she filled the pot and dumped it into the machine. She flicked the button to turn it on and crossed back to her bed. Kneeling down she dragged the bottom most drawer out and rummaged through for a pair of jean. Spring in Arizona meant a short lived lull before you could bake just as easily in the shadows as you could an oven. Coffee done, she slid the orange tank on and pulled her hair back. She took a quick sip and inhaled the scent before and tossing the styrofoam cup, that was still mostly full, into the trash.
The shop was less than ten minutes away but sometimes it felt closer. Today, on her day off when she had better places to be, was one of those days. Reg, her boss, sat with his feet propped and his ankles crossed. His oil covered uniform hung on his frame like a suit that was 4 sizes too big. And his hair was in a loose salt and pepper ponytail that reminded her more of Woodstock and less of Motor city.
“Did you get that clutch in?” She passed him without waiting for an answer. She knew it was going to be a no anyway. It was Sunday and Reg didn’t get jack in on Sunday’s. She half wondered why she was here and then remembered. Because Reg doesn’t want to be. That might have bugged her if she hadn’t been promised part ownership starting next month.
“The drive shaft on that Charger has to come off.” Reg called behind her. She winced. That meant she was going to be here a lot longer than ten minutes. Sighing she grabbed her socket set from the wall and the air gun from the corner. She splayed out across the Creeper and used her heels to dig in. She pushed herself under the Dark Green Poly paint with practiced ease. She was halfway thru unscrewing the bolts when she heard a creak of metal. She froze and looked at the lift above her. It seemed to be holding steady but it was always better to check. She never got to move an inch farther as the Lift came down in a rush.
