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

The single bay door began to ascend with a steady metal clack behind Sio as Joel rounded the corner. To Joel, it felt good just push the controller as he came around the corner to his street. Much like the airport everything looked the same as he’d left it: Thick power lines across the streets, scrub growing up through parts of the sidewalk and cracked pavement that hadn’t seen a resurfacing crew in decades. It was home. The few businesses that still survived on his street were closed up for the night, save for the mill down the road a few blocks. He wondered briefly if some of the regular crew that usually stopped by to chat had missed him. Coming down through the gears, the only thing that looked out of the ordinary was Sio unloading grocery bags from the back of her car. He gave a smirk and a nod seeing her as he cut the wheel and backed up into the small alleyway that ran to the back of his lot. The red and black Jurassic-themed Wrangler wound down with a characteristic grumble from the transmission.

“I think you already have.” He said accepting a couple large bags from her and glancing down inside. He was mostly curious if she bought the right beer, but not seeing it, he assumed it was in one of the other bags and looked up into the dim shop. Sitting on the polished concrete floor was Sio’s old Stingray and behind it, the 300, just as he had left them. Being gone for so long, all the smells he became used to were apparent. Anti-freeze, oil and the pungent rubbery scent of racing slick tires were new to him again momentarily and he breathed in happily before noticing the weight of the bags in his hands. “Geez, think you bought enough?” He said leading the way inside and continuing to scan thoroughly that [i]everything[/i], every hose, every tool, every cloth was indeed, [i]exactly[/i] the way he left it. The big trophy from the Sol City Grand Prix was slightly in his way on the floor as he carried the bags and he pushed it aside with his foot. 

Something about her being there waiting felt both out of place and oddly, [i]normal[/i] like she came there all the time. There hadn’t been a woman waiting for him after a long trip for quite a while, most of which was by his own choice. He slid his elbow over the light switch as he carried in the bags bringing the kitchen area came into view. It was surprisingly modern, though rarely used to any extent and like the workshop, neatly organized and spotlessly clean. The appliances, only a few years old, still looked brand new in slate gray and black matching the general masculine color palette that he picked out when they did the remodel. He almost wished he hadn’t spent so much money on it, but the loan was paid off. “I tend to eat out more,” He admitted. “So most of this stuff never gets used a whole lot.”

[@Almalthia]