“Reynolds,” I told the grease monkey behind the counter. A few quick keystrokes later her eyes went wide.
“Dios mio,” she whispered before hastily disappearing into the back.
Before long, every machine in the auto repair shop grew quiet. And every mechanic had their noses pressed against the glass partition.
They all wanted a look at the guy who did the unthinkable. The guy who had forgotten his vehicle for almost two years.
“Can I just get my car please?” I shouted towards the heavens.
The employee returned. “Cash or pelts,” she asked, a huge grin on her face.
Hilarious.
The Weekday One Hundred 