Jeremiah sat behind the desk in his auto shop. The smell of old oil seeped through the walls, staining his office with the oder. He had nearly gotten used to it. Looking through reports, he rested his head on his hands, feeling the stress.
“Jer!” a man said. Jeremiah didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
“Hey, Rea,” he said flatly, raising his head. “Still fashionable as ever, I see,” he said, pointing out that Rea wore all black, as always.
“What can I say? I’m traditional. And it’s sliming.”
Jeremiah leaned back in his chair and groaned.
“Like you need it,” he said. Rea had always been skin and bones while life had made Jeremiah get doughy.
“I’m putting together a crew,” he said, straight to the point. Continue reading