Page 51 of Micah
Oil rag.
Flashlight.
Simple job.
Five minutes, maybe ten.
Her old conversion van sits beneath the security light behind the building.
The thing has character.
Couple hundred thousand miles if I had to guess.
New tires.
Fresh brake pads.
Engine sounds healthy.
She takes care of it.
Good.
I pop the hood.
Exactly what I expected.
The cabin filter looks like it hasn't been changed since dinosaurs roamed the earth.
“No wonder you can't breathe,” I mutter.
Five minutes later the new one's installed.
Engine filter next.
Easy.
I check the oil while I'm here.
Still clean.
Half a quart low.
I grab the bottle from my toolbox and top it off.
Might as well.
Coolant's good.
Belts look fine.
Battery terminals are clean.
Satisfied, I lower the hood gently.
Done.
I wipe my hands on the shop rag.
