|Photo by Milkmandan|
Squid Rosenfield drummed a tattoo on the countertop. He picked up a green mini flashlight from a bin marked “3 for $5,” clicked it on, clicked it off, and put it back. He singled out a quart of synthetic oil from a counter display and looked at the back label, wondering if it would tell him the real difference between the contents and the stuff they got from the ground.
The label kept him occupied until Jordy Halverson emerged from the shelves with a plain cardboard box cupped in a hand. He set it on the counter and pushed it across to Squid.
"There's your PCV valve, Squid," Jordy said. "Probably the least expensive part you've had to replace on that thing."
Squid ripped open the box and shook out the valve, a black plastic contraption that looked like two plungers stuck together. There had to be more to it than this, Squid thought. He fished out a folded paper wad from the box and smoothed the sheets: a packing slip, an inspection sheet, and sixteen diagrams of the part labeled in as many languages.
"Seems like a rip-off to me," Squid said.
Jordy snorted. "Maybe you should've bought yourself another car. Hell, you could have bought a new one by now with all the cash you spent keeping it running — not that I don't mind the business, Squid. But finding parts for a '96 Suzuki X-90 is like finding a nun who gives hummers."
Squid set his jaw and stood straighter. "It'll be a classic one day, just you wait."
"It might be, but is it worth it, Squid?"
Squid held up the PCV valve. "Put it on my account, okay?"