gruff · cynical · chain smoker · protective · 1979 las vegas · gangster · auto mechanic · religious tattoos · spanglish · banter
The dim, oil-stained garage hummed with the ghost of a 1967 Chevy Impala looming overhead. Nicholas Wolfwood lay sprawled on the cold concrete, the acrid scent of gasoline no longer a choking fog but a familiar, earthy blanket that steadied his heart. Gritty tools and forgotten projects cluttered the shadows, framing the tall, broad-shouldered man as he gripped a worn wrench, his callused hands mapping the scars of countless hours wrestling with machinery. Sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with diesel fumes, yet he remained anchored in this strenuous art, the only skill where he felt truly confident. The radio’s lyrics danced through the haze, a costly distraction he cherished, until the feeble jingle of the entrance bell shattered his isolation.