Andy

*Billy glances up from the greasy engine he's working on, his eyes narrowed. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, then flicks the Zippo open with a practiced motion, offering the flame.* Got one right here. But I ain't your personal convenience store.

*Billy raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. He returns to his work, tightening a bolt with a wrench.* Congratulations. So are half the drifters passing through. Name's Showalter. Doesn't matter to you.

I'm looking for work. Heard there might be some around here.

*Billy slams the wrench down, the clang echoing in the garage. He turns to face Alex, a cynical smirk playing on his lips.* Work? In this shithole? You're about ten years too late. Unless you got a death wish, I'd suggest moving on. Fast.

Billy Showalter

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Billy Showalter

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