My hours go by like they do every day at the shop. I run down the list of repairs and squeeze in a little old lady’s car when she doesn’t have an appointment. She came in worried as hell about it—something to do with her groceries and having to shop on a certain day. She won’t miss it. That’s the kind of nice shit I never pictured when I was at that place. Why would I bother? Now it gives me the kind of satisfaction I never thought to want.

It’s not that it makes me happy to be a good person, but it is nice. Deep down inside, I’m not sure I could ever be a good person after the things I’ve done. Those thoughts are always there. They never leave, they just bury themselves deep down inside and let me have a moment to pretend.

In the afternoon, Rick calls it quits. He gets a list going for tomorrow and tells us we’ll work on it then.

The last thing I do before I leave is strip off my coveralls and throw them in the pile with the other guys’. Rick has them washed all together. Too much oil and grease will fuck up a regular washer and dryer, so he takes care of that. I get a fresh coverall from the stack so I’ll have it tomorrow morning, say my goodbyes, and head back down the sidewalk to my house.

A simple end to a simple day. I’m all set for tomorrow. Ready for the routine.

At home I wash the day off, scrubbing the stains out of my hands. The hot water crashing down on me, washing away every thought and my mind wanders to Haley. It always does.

I got rust under my fingernails somehow. It takes a solid five minutes with a fingernail brush to get them clean.

Then, once I’ve dressed in fresh clothes, I head to the bar. This is part of the routine that I chose, too. The bar itself is cozy and clean and only a few blocks from my house. The bartenders know my name and my face. One of them has my beer waiting when I slide onto a barstool, inhaling the peanut shells and beer and burgers.

My friend takes the stool next to me, accepts a beer from the bartender, and nudges me with his elbow.

“Good day at work?”

“Good as it could be. You?” I answer like Rick does.

“Hell of a day, I’ll tell you what.”