Stupid wretched Hands

Song: Reign Of The Dark | Artist: Adrian von Zielger | Word Count: N/A

Gerald's eyes flutter open, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light flooding into the open garage door to the mechanics shop. Tools scatter the floor as he sits up, peeling his face off the stitched leather seat of the motorcycle that he was replacing some parts on. Across the right side of his face he has a long line imprinted in his skin from the seam on the leather. It seams that at the last moment of work he had decided that he would rather fall asleep on the seat than lock up and go to bed upstairs. Not that it was unusual however, a deep work ethic embedded in his bones alongside a never ending pile of work that needs to be done has made him a bit of a workaholic.

Standing up Gerald pushes the red leather rolling stool away, its wheels chattering away until it bumps the wall where he keeps it tucked away. "Uh, God," Gerald exclaimes as he tries to put a bit more flexibility into his body since sleeping hunched over has tied him into some oddly shaped knots.  Stretching and reaching upwards he feels several joints in his chest pop before he rolls both his shoulders to get some limberness into them too. "Bout time d'at I wrap this up." Looking out the door he shades his eyes from the nine o'clock sun and checks that no one is on the road before he reaches up and pulls the garage door down, the door slamming into the floor before he kicks the foot lock shut sealing the room from view to the outside world save for any one that might be at the door peaking into the glass windows at head level in the metal. Walking about the garage he picks up stray tools one at a time, hanging them in their appropriate places and tossing dirty rags into the trash.

Gerald looks about the garage one more time, ensuring that it looks some what presentable if a new customer should come in to get some work done on anything that they might own. Stepping through a side door he locks the garage behind him and heads up a thin set of stairs leading to the loft where he stays. Using his house key he opens the locked door to the loft and steps into the comfort of the single room single bath house that he calls home. Hopping into the shower he lets the scalding water melt away all the engine oil and road grease that he has spent the last night sleeping in. Washing his browned hair the oil washes away leaving a bright golden blond hair behind. Taking his time he soothes himself into a more relaxed state, finally happy enough with his cleanliness to get out and go get some food into his belly.

Walking through his loft buck naked save for the towel draped over his neck he quickly towels off before picking a bland grey shirt free of oil stains to wear and a pair of blue jeans to wear with it. Slipping into his favorite pair of crocodile brown leather boots he grabs his hat, a hand shaped bull hide leather copper creek hat, a small sheriff star set on the band around the headband. The star is only a decoration but it adds the style to the hat that Gerald feels that it needed. Putting on his belt he buckles the large Bronco Breaking trophy, all silvered and shiny, the small man mid buck on the back of a wild horse cowboy hat in hand. It is a simple symbol of the difficulty and the uncontrollable nature of the sport, one that has been the cause of several broken bones in Gerald's body including two severely sprained wrists.



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