Press examined the edge of the machete he had just repaired, then tested it on a steel block. It left a cut an inch deep before stopping. Deeming it satisfactory, he removed the blade from the block, repairing any and all damages to both, then handed the machete to the customer hilt first, who gave Press some rations in payment. After the customer left he sighed. His job was honest work, but it was boring. People were always coming in, complaining about the tiniest little things about their tools and weapons, and how only Press could fix them. Some of these cases were pretty bad, and it was true that only Press could fix them in those cases, but others were just lazy assholes that couldn't be bothered to sharpen their blades or clean their weapons properly. He grabbed his shotgun from the corner of the room and gave it another quick maintenance, even though it probably didn't need one. After all, Press kept his weapons in top shape, or at least as well as he could. One minute later, he was done, and he debated about going on break for a while.