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Artie walked over, the gravel crunching under his boots. He didn't see a customer; he saw himself twenty years ago, standing in a similar lot with nothing but a toolbox and a prayer. He reached into the Corolla, turned the key, and the engine chirped to life, settling into a steady, reliable hum that filled the quiet afternoon.

Leo’s eyes widened. He reached out and shook Artie’s hand, his grip firm and grateful. buy rite cars

The neon sign for Buy Rite Cars hummed with a low, electric buzz that sounded like a swarm of bees trapped in a glass jar. It was 1994, and the lot on the edge of Mesa was a sea of sun-bleached hoods and windshields sporting prices written in thick, neon-green window chalk. Artie walked over, the gravel crunching under his boots

"She’s a runner, kid," Artie said, not even looking up as a young man in a stained flannel shirt circled a 1985 Toyota Corolla. Leo’s eyes widened