M!LL!FORTE [SY]

[ツ PEZZY]

"GAAAAAHHH!"

Stupid car.
Stupid glass.
Stupid America.

A thin line of blood ran down the inside of his palm, the severity of it matching a scrape on his elbow.

Jesus Christ he had to be more careful. At this rate he'd blow up his kneecaps by midmorning, and get his hair burnt off in time for lunch. Luckily Unfortunately it was a Saturday. The kind that required Lux to get out of bed and off to work for, the only bright side being that he could leave early if he was able to replace the glass, vacuum the interior and add oil to the hinges of the trunk before noon. And bada-bing! Bada-frikkin'-boom! While starting first task of the day (replacing the glass from the co-pilot window) he'd cut himself...in a totally non-emo kind of way. This was probably because he had no clue where his leather mech gloves ran off to. Aw, geez.

For now, he needed to get the med kit and find a bandaid, pronto, despite the fact that he wouldn't die from a tiny cut. Still, it stung pretty bad. He turned up the radio on his way to the back "office," which was just a crappy desk and a load of old paperwork. Within that crappy desk was an equally crappy med kit, complete with your half-empty, badass Kleenex pouch, unused poison ivy relief gels and HALLELUJAH a bandaid.

But wait...did that thing have a obese-headed, little Mexican girl with a blue 'n' yellow monkey in red uggs on it?

OH GOD NO.

IT WAS DORA.

"..."
An eye twitch here, an eyebrow quirk there.
He was creeped out, to say the least.

Lux forced himself to wear the thing for another two hours, as the new glass was installed, the chairs were cleaned and the trunk door was fixed. Thank the Lord that nobody was there working the same shift as him to see the stupid bandaid on his left palm.

Oh well.

With a shrug, he put away the oil can, the oil rag and clicked off the radio. The station went quiet after that; it was expected though. He was in the middle of a damn desert and not getting out until the summer, when he could zoom off all the way to his precious Italy again and not worry about lack of water.

On he marched outside, across a spell of desert sand, and onto the edge of 42nd Street; right to his beloved red Vespa. It was 11:32. Grinning, he put on his helmet, started the engine and sped off towards town. within ten minutes, he'd parked the Vespa outside of Main Street's famous pizza and ice cream parlor.

Ahh.
Pizza. Ice-Cream.
Two things every Italian giant loves.

Too bad he had to wait to get them; the line was a little long and the place was bursting with people. But it was going to be worth it in the end; the vanilla was to die for.