Tully asks you how that new mechanic you tried out was and the best response you can manage is a shrug and something about being stuck with him now. He frowns and tells you to come back in two hours.
You return after a long lunch to find Tully napping in the office. You rouse him gently by banging loudly on the counter.
Tully jumps to his feet and gestures wordlessly for you to follow him into the shop proper.
You stand by your car alongside him; he stares at you for a moment and nods.
"Well?" you ask impatiently.
"Ah, yeah. Well, your car was fine," Tully explains.
"Really? Well, that's good."
"Hold on now. I said it was fine. That was before Skeeter here," he says, gesturing to a lanky young man approaching you," spilled his soda in your oil receptacle."
Skeeter stops just short of Tully. He sways back and forth gently, as if an invisible wind pushes him. One of his eyes stares straight at you, the other peers to the other side of the room. You nod in acknowledgment to him; he responds by picking a large booger out of his nose and eating it. He smiles widely after he stops chewing. Apparently it was pretty good.
"Skeeters a little short up in the brain-cage," Tully says, "but he's big on heart."
You consider it's not too late to start riding a bicycle.