juxlii

I picked her up from work the other day. The auto mechanic job, not the pole dancing; cars are the passion, the leg work is some fun for when the money gets tight.
It was a hot day, so the top half of her coveralls were dangling from her waist; dark, dark blue leading to heavy black work boots. Revealed was a skimpy golden bikini top; sweat highlighting the trail of tattoos that run down her cleavage. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail; a smear of black grease across her cheek and chin glistened in the sun, as did the metal in her lip and ear.
We had planned to go straight out, but all that she could think about was a long shower.
Who was I to argue?

My life isn't half bad. I really should stop complaining so much.