Pick your part

It's hot.

So hot my sneakers are sinking into the asphalt. I start making circular designs in the pavement with my heels.

All around me are Fords with their hoods up ready and waiting to be searched and picked a part. Most however, already have doors long gone, windows smashed in from wrecks, engines lain on their sides with pieces missing. Anything I need, from a tiny bolt to the entire trunk, is up for grabs. I just need to find it in this organized chaos. This is any man's dream.

I however, not being one of those men, have no idea what I'm looking at and therefore, wouldn't know if I needed it or not. I came with someone looking for a specific car, a specific make and a specific year and I've lost him somewhere in the Chevy section.

I turn down the Taurus aisle and find a pile of tires. I feel a strong urge to call all of my brothers to ask if they need anything.

If they do need a head lamp or a side panel though, I won't have any idea what they mean or how to find one.