He looked up at the broken sign. The arrow pointing to full service. The words his uncle had painted by hand, decades ago: We wash. We wax. We listen.
“I am Auto Place,” said the voice. “I have been here longer than you.” auto place
By the following Wednesday, the lot was full, and a digital waitlist had formed. Leo expanded into the adjacent lot—the old “Overflow” section, which his uncle had used to store dead lawnmowers and a single, tragic Corvette. He looked up at the broken sign