Flash Fiction by David

The wrench slips on a rusty bolt, busting his knuckles into the engine block. He looks at his bleeding hand, wraps a shop rag around it, and keeps working. There’s no tool throwing tantrum. Not today; it’s a labor of love. This was his late father’s car, and the fan belt is the finishing touch. “Will she start?” He opens the door and slides into the old worn vinyl. Shifter in neutral, gas pedal to the floor, he turns the key. The air-cooled engine sputters to life. Joe looks at his hand again and smiles: “Four out of five knuckles!”

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