Repair Shop

Jen and her cats

June 19

This morning I took my car to a locally owned tire/repair shop to check the front end. I sat in the lobby soaking up the atmosphere while I waited; a warm and safe space with a soft drink machine that charges a quarter for a grape soda in a can. After two hours they told me what all they'd checked and that everything seemed to be ok. They didn't charge me a dime. Next time I need car work, I'm going back there.

A small and dingy little space
with cars parked all over the place
waiting their turn inside a bay.
Just another business day.
The hum is low from within 
until the moment he walks in,
then everyone's awake and waiting 
for the conductor dictating 
every move, each repair.
Things run fine without him there,
but that's because each of those men
hold a high regard for him. 
The lobby's a menagerie
of different types of folks, like me,
who come here for an honest break
from smooth-talking snakes.
The entire day I'd be content
to wait in this environment. 
It's the best of southern living
that rampant growth is slowly killing.