Terrence arrives at the auto shop a good ten minutes early. There are two cars parked in the shop’s meager lot, both junkers that obviously have not moved in years—grass grows up between the tires of one vehicle, and the other is rusted so badly, Terrence can’t figure out the car’s original color. His Mercedes gleams beside them.
Exiting his car, Terrence stops to check his reflection in his tinted window. Thick neck, broad shoulders, face and hands blends into the darkened glass as the bright white shirt he wears seems to glow in the sunshine. He straightens his tie, which is a muted pink color most men wouldn’t be secure enough about their sexuality to pull off wearing. Then he steps back, hikes up his slacks an inch, and admires his own appearance. For an old guy, Terrence thinks he’s
