The Service – Part Two

I had spent the week foolishly believing that each time I unlocked my car, the door would open, and each time I had to walk around and shuffle across the passenger seat. If the battery in the key worked then my parade around the silver machine would be retired. I was making my return visit to last week’s scene, the scene where I parted with a large amount of cash that probably exceeded the value of the silver machine. The door was to be fixed, the rear windscreen wiper to be perked up and the new rear brakes fitted. At least today I knew what awaited me, I knew that there was no more money to be paid. In a non driving music cliché, Born in the USA was my album of choice, couldn’t get more blue-collar than mechanics, although these ones wore black. As classic British weather goes, it was grey, uncertain whether it wanted to rain or just envelop the land in a giant bland blanket.