The Driveway at 42 Blueberry Hill, Wednesday Evening

[beenthroughthat]

Now that he had the use of both hands again and his right hand was back to working the way he wanted it to, Sam had decided it was more than time to fix his poor, battered motorcycle -- which was the last thing he'd moved out of his trailer lot on Thunder Road over the weekend.

He was greasy, grubby, and not exactly a hundred percent sure -- or even seventy-five percent sure -- of what he was doing, but he was in a good mood as he tinkered away in the glare of a portable work lamp, and humming to himself as he worked.

[OOC: Open, whee.]