TRASH
Well it's not much better than Billy's, but at least you won't have to put up with teenage co-workers.
You head over to Jim's and enter his dank, dark repair shop. A large American Flag adorns the wall right along side a Confederate one. Various weapons are mounted on the walls, probably already loaded and fully functional. Johnny Cash can be heard faintly in the shop and the place reeks of WD-40, smoke and fused metal. Jim doesn't repair shit so much as he just fiddles with it until it somehow works. You hear the squeaking of wheels and see a billow of smokeĀ "Big" Jim comes from out from his office and there he is, in all his legless, chain smoking, wheelchair glory.
"Goddammit Mel, what the fuck do you want?" he shouts at you.
"I want a fucking job, you mean old bastard! Why the hell is it so empty in here?"
"That fucking commie bastard Petrov down the street opened up a repair place down the street, so people are going there now! Can you fucking believe that shit? I'm a fucking (COUGH COUGH!) war hero!"
"Yeah, well maybe if this place didn't look like a fucking dungeon, people might want to actually come in here."
"Motherfucker I spent a year in a fucking tiger pit with no goddamn sunlight, my eyes never got accustomed to bright light after that! I'd like to see how long you would've lasted in the bush against Charlie!" Jim says wheeling up to you and poking you in the chest.
"What going on down there!?" you hear a higher pitched voice come from the upstairs living area of the shop.
"Nevermind Mei Mei! Go back to your fuckin' cleaning!"
"Fuck you, you legless American pig!"
"I bet you wished you hadn't saved her from that village now, eh? So I guess with business being slow, you aren't hiring?"
"Thing aren't that bad, and as much as I'm loathed to admit I could use some help and you just might come in handy. You can either help me repair shit around here, or (COUGH!) perhaps you'd like to go on a little mission for me."
You head over to Jim's and enter his dank, dark repair shop. A large American Flag adorns the wall right along side a Confederate one. Various weapons are mounted on the walls, probably already loaded and fully functional. Johnny Cash can be heard faintly in the shop and the place reeks of WD-40, smoke and fused metal. Jim doesn't repair shit so much as he just fiddles with it until it somehow works. You hear the squeaking of wheels and see a billow of smokeĀ "Big" Jim comes from out from his office and there he is, in all his legless, chain smoking, wheelchair glory.
"Goddammit Mel, what the fuck do you want?" he shouts at you.
"I want a fucking job, you mean old bastard! Why the hell is it so empty in here?"
"That fucking commie bastard Petrov down the street opened up a repair place down the street, so people are going there now! Can you fucking believe that shit? I'm a fucking (COUGH COUGH!) war hero!"
"Yeah, well maybe if this place didn't look like a fucking dungeon, people might want to actually come in here."
"Motherfucker I spent a year in a fucking tiger pit with no goddamn sunlight, my eyes never got accustomed to bright light after that! I'd like to see how long you would've lasted in the bush against Charlie!" Jim says wheeling up to you and poking you in the chest.
"What going on down there!?" you hear a higher pitched voice come from the upstairs living area of the shop.
"Nevermind Mei Mei! Go back to your fuckin' cleaning!"
"Fuck you, you legless American pig!"
"I bet you wished you hadn't saved her from that village now, eh? So I guess with business being slow, you aren't hiring?"
"Thing aren't that bad, and as much as I'm loathed to admit I could use some help and you just might come in handy. You can either help me repair shit around here, or (COUGH!) perhaps you'd like to go on a little mission for me."