[Carl's Memory]
[The Streets of New York – Pre-Apocalypse.]
The humid air of the city smelled of exhaust and discarded dreams.
"Hey!! Be fast with that!!"
A man in a sharp, expensive suit yelled in a voice thick with unearned rage. He stood, pointing a manicured finger at Carl, who was hunched over on the hot pavement. Carl's hands were raw from the soapy water, but he was busy scrubbing the grime off the man's BMW tires with rhythmic intensity.
"Sorry, sir! It has only been five minutes. I will get it done faster," Carl said quickly. He didn't look up. He couldn't afford to. He focused on the brush, making sure not to leave a single speck of dirt on the gleaming alloy.
