“Double points if you find one the right color.” The junkyard stretched on for miles, acre upon acre of beehives, feral dogs, and cars as wrecked as the world around them. Joey and Zeph were perched an old truck, surveying their realm from a central vantage.
“Who cares about color?” Zeph scoffed. “If it runs, it’s going to be a miracle. If it hauls, we’re in.”
“If it runs and LOOKS good, then we’ve done what nobody else has in fifteen years. That’s the thing, little sister.” Joey posed, wrench and crowbar pointed to the sky. “If we do this, no-one, NOBODY, will be able to follow our act.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/949778.html. You can comment here or there.