[center][h2][b]Joel Nicolosi[/b][/h2][/center]

Most everyone had checked out of Southside around mid afternoon. Shiftwork went on of course, but the steady Monday through Friday crowd were gearing up to enjoy the weekend at Central Point. The sun set on the distant sound of a firetruck headed out on a call and the rumble of a yard switcher moving cars around the hump yard. The night, for the moment was cool and clear and Joel still had the bay door open with music pumping out through the shop into the mostly empty streets. He knew his neighbors, a fabric manufacturing plant and a machine shop wouldn’t mind the sound. There was a raised FJ Cruiser parked on the curb along with Joel’s Jeep Wrangler. Inside the shop was empty save for the 300 sitting along on its airjacks. The hood and entire front section were still unattached and sitting neatly behind the car. 

Joel had no intention of attending any of the so called “festivities”; changing over his sleeping pattern from his nocturnal streak still left him slightly groggy, but he held off on sleep long enough that he knew when he finally bedded down for the night, it would be lights out quick and then up early to meet the hauler to transport the car over to the cargo airport. 

The Cruiser belonged to Louis Grego, or just, “Lou” as most people called him. Joel jokingly referred to him as, “the Don” due to his characteristic accent and Italian lineage. Lou had run his own shop in the heart of Neo City as a master tech for many years and retired to Sol after arthritis in his hands made continuing to work on cars unfeasible. Joel met him when he first relocated and was only getting started in racing the car competitively. He regarded the man as something of a mentor and his input had influenced many of Joel’s best projects including the car sitting between them. 

“Where’s your [i]FRS[/i]?” Joel said walking around with a section of heat treated ventilation hose, “People going to think this is some kind of four-by-four shop.” 

“Whaddaya talkin about dude?” Lou chuckled, “You see this thing here?” He waved a hand at the 300. “I feel like I’m at the Indy five-hundred or somethin’.”
 
Joel smirked. The last thing before he could replace the body panels was replumbing the front brake ductwork. It was a simple enough job then pop the tires on and they were all set. Lou had only stopped by as he knew the test date was coming up and was curious. “You gonna head up town for bit?” He asked.

“Not hardly,” Joel replied flatly.

“C’mon, be good for yeh,” Lou replied. “You’ll have this sewed up in a half hour. I’m taking the old lady up there for some live music. You can ride with us. She’ll drive.”

Joel shook his head, “I think I’d rather somebody beat the shit out of me than be up in that mess.”

“That car not gonna take care of yas when you get old as me,” Lou had a way of cutting straight to the quick and Joel knew exactly what he meant. A secret part of him did actually want to go, but the ruling majority was firm in their resolve. He had too much respect for Lou to shoot back a smartass retort and he knew the man could read him like an open book anyway. He’d dealt with cars and people longer than Joel had been alive. He thought about the girl he’d met at the airport, the last female he’d interacted with in two days, but just like the times before he stowed the thought away reaffirmed his position:

“Nah, I’m good man. I just wanna get this done and get some sleep.”


Joel's shop radio #3
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoQIuDEHVng[/youtube]