Chapter 10

"You'll come to pick the car tomorrow," says the mechanic.

He's a rotund man with a shiny bald head, who is probably in his early forties. I thought he would be done fixing my car and I would drive myself to work tomorrow. 

Ugh!

I might take a cab or just do what I do normally, walk.

"I've come to pick my car," someone says behind me. "Can I?" 

That voice is so familiar.

I look back to see my cute neighbour, with his hair hanging on his shoulder. He looks so much sober than he did the first day we met. He looks like a different version of himself. 

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