I pulled into the gravel lot of the county maintenance shop.

Luke had left his green plastic lunchbox on the kitchen counter at dawn.

I grabbed it from the passenger seat and went inside.

The huge open bay doors let in a cold draft.

The concrete floor was stained black with decades of diesel oil.

I listened to the heavy air compressor cycle on and off.

Luke lay on his back on a wooden creeper, rolled halfway under a yellow county snowplow truck.

A mechanic named Carl stood near the big front tire.