A Growing Attraction Part 1
The city never really sleeps, but Taylor Mechanics does its best impression past midnight. Rhonda is the only living thing in the building, unless you count the cricket that’s been haunting the shop since September or the grease-stained Rottweiler calendar that refuses to die even though it’s still stuck on last July. The air is heavy with solvent, steel, and the sour aftertaste of cold pizza. Overhead, the lights hum their endless song, making everything look a little harsher than it is. She’s got a project tonight—a vintage Harley, the kind of old dog that demands patience and love and a tolerance for blood loss. The bike is up on the lift, its bones gleaming in the blue-white glow, stripped down to the block and a tangle of hoses that seem to multiply every time she looks away. She sho
- Writer
