Me: So, how’s she lookin’, Bruce?
Bruce: With this very unpleasin' sneezin' and wheezin, she’s revved up like a deuce.
Me: Layman’s terms?
Bruce: It’s totaled.
Me: Thank you so much for fixing that rattling sound.
Bruce: Well now, I'm no hero, that's understood.
Me: I don’t remember calling you a hero…
Bruce: All the redemption I can offer is beneath this dirty hood.
Me: Are you saying there’s something else wrong with the engine?
Bruce: Oh, tons.
Bruce: Hey Eddie, can you lend me a few bucks?
Me: Ohhh, I…I don’t know.
Bruce: Tonight, can you get us a ride?
Me: You want money and a ride? I’m a customer. What for?
Bruce: Gotta make it through the tunnel. Got a meeting with a man on the other side.
Me: Just take the PATH.
Bruce: It might be time to think about a new car. I know a guy who’s looking to sell.
Bruce: That pure American brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced, races Sundays in Jersey in a Chevy stock Super Eight.
Me: I’m not really looking for a souped-up Chevy. More like a daily driver, good safety ratings—that sort of thing.
Bruce: He rides ‘er low on the hip; on the side he's got “Bound for Glory” in red, white, and blue flash paint.
Me: Again, that’s a little intense.
Bruce: He leans on the hood telling racing stories—the kids call him Jimmy the Saint.
Me: No offense to “Jimmy the Saint” [vigorous air quotes], but I’m not interested.
Bruce: Well, that blaze-and-noise boy, he's gunnin' that bitch, loaded to blastin' point. He rides head first into a hurricane and disappears into a point.
Me: I mean, rhyming point and point–
Bruce: And there's nothin' left but some blood where the body fell. That is, nothin' left that you could sell.
Me: Just confirming: it seems like there was never actually a car for sale. Sounds like your friend drove directly into a hurricane. Was that a metaphor?
Me: I’m still hearing that same rattling sound. You promised you fixed it—what happened?
Bruce: When the promise is broken, you go on living, but it steals something from down in your soul.
Me: What an eloquent way of taking zero responsibility.
Bruce: That’ll be $5,000.
Me: Sounds a little steep, no?
Bruce: Someday you’ll learn to live with the price you pay.
Me: Look, we really need to talk about your attention to detail and your focus.
Bruce: Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, all right. Ha ha, da, da, da, da, da. Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, all right, ooh, all right, all right. Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, all right, whoa, all right. Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, all right, whoa, all right. Woo!
Me: What do I owe you?
Bruce: Let the broken hearts stand as the price you've gotta pay.
Me: Seriously, how much?
Bruce: Poor man wanna be rich, rich man wanna be king.
Me: Are you saying this is on the house?
Bruce: Of course not.
Me: Sorry, I guess I just thought–
Bruce: Wow, no.
Me: I know you asked if you could borrow that Chevy stock Super Eight I ended up buying from Jimmy the Saint—who miraculously survived his solo road trip into a storm system—but the brakes are totally shot.
Bruce: Tonight I'll be on that hill, 'cause I can't stop.
Me: You’re right—you literally can’t stop. Because of the brakes. Please do not go to that hill tonight.
Bruce: I'll be on that hill with everything I got.
Me: How are you doing, Bruce?
Bruce: I had a job, I had a girl.
Me: Oh boy, here we go.
Bruce: I had something going, mister, in this world; but I got laid off down at the lumber yard.
Me: Man, I am so sorry.
Me: Not to be a jerk, but is that why this repair is taking so long? Because you had another job “down at the lumber yard”?
Me: Again, not to be insensitive to your situation here, but now that you’ve been laid off, will you have more time to finish my car?
Bruce: Now I work down at the car wash, where all it ever does is rain.
Me: I’m going to Jiffy Lube.