“The car mechanic? Eww, he uses a ton of hair gel. What did you go on a date with him for?” Bethanie said.
I’d decided to take my mom’s car for a ride through town yesterday. The front tire practically came off the Prius a mile away from the house. I called for the local mechanic, and Tony Montello showed up.
After grunting and pulling and moaning and grumbling for twenty minutes, he fixed the tire, all covered in tar and grease. Rather than accept my money, he kept insisting that I go out with him for a drink.
I decided that rather than argue with him, I’d have a drink with him and put an end to the matter right there and then. It wasn’t even a date, but Tony insisted that I call it that.
“Babes, you did go on a date with him. I don’t know how things work in Chicago, but in Rapid Fall
