Henry pulls up the gas station indicated by his client's receipts, and begins filling up the tank of his fire-engine red 77 Oldsmobile
LTD. Thing looks like shit, but it's built like a tank. All steel, no aluminum, no plastic. Just like a good car should be. As he fills up, he looks around to get a feel for the neighborhood.

Its a very warehouse sort of district, the smell of fumes is strong and whatever is in the air smells badly. You have not seen any homeless in this area nor anyone not actively employed. The old man behind the counter looks up and you can see a hint of surprise on his face at the classic car.

He steps outside of the tiny station building with no AC and nods at you.

"Say, that theres a real beaut. Ain't seen one o'dem in yeers. You here lookin fer werk?"  

--Last edited by Mnemon on 2008-09-26 11:11:18 --

"Thanks. Naw sir, I cain't say I am," he replies, affecting a Southern accent. "Why, you got an openin'?"

 "Hell naw, shit I bin werkin dis here place fer forty years. Jis me an ol' blue there," nodding toward the coonhound laying in the office asleep.

"Jis don't see too many folk I don't now round here. Most jis werk in dem mills and such. Rest are jis inspecters and a few a dem rich folk cum to gloat on how much money dey hold over us. Figured ye weren't one o' dem, no disrespect mind ya, so had to be lookin fer a job in one o' dem plants. I heer dat filterin company few blocks down needs a few freight hands, so I was gonna offer," in a freindly tone, looking like he enjoys talking with the working folk, salt of the earth type.