A sharp spray of rust flakes hit the concrete.

He didn’t lower his wire brush.

“I don’t want my job back, Dale,” I said, standing three feet from the rear bumper.

“I want to trade ninety-one thousand five hundred clean pennies for a cashier’s check.”

He rolled out from under the lift on his low wooden creeper and wiped his forehead with the back of a greasy wrist.

He stood up slowly and tugged his leather belt buckle with both thumbs.

“You accepted the currency I gave you.