So there we were, beset on all sides by corporate America. The new upper management of the company who worships the almighty dollar alone demanded that we return all company vehicles, so that we make gravel for their use in the future. myself and a stalwart other few decided to fight this grave injustice. With the scant ammount of coin we had to our names my fellows workers and I set about finding a suitable mode of transpertation so that we may throw off the yoke of indentured servitude that the monie grubbing upper management had placed apon us. But this journey was a tireless one of trials and tribulations, and just as we felt our strength leaving us, I found the only vehicle within my budget. A 96 Nissan Altima, almost as beat as we were this car was the Dimond in the ruff we sought. Just as the celibateing set in, a golden haired mechanic god decided from on high. Our vehicles savior. Chandler Young. Like something akin to the darwfs of Nidavellir in old Norse legend he set about fixing the dog turd of a car we had humbly set before him. Within scant moments with parts flying and tools moving Chandler the once and future mechanic king had turned the pile of excrement we had purchased into a fine tuned immaculate road machine. We fell to our knees in weeping reference of the unbelievable feet all had just bore witness to, knowing that mere mortals could never hope to offer fair compensation for what had occurred there that day. And just when the saddens was about to overtake us, The prince of the engine spoke. The smooth words he utered were that of the best price in all of middle Tennessee for a normal repair job, let alone the magic that just occurred before us. We gladly paid the small sum.he asked for and with the last tears of farewell in our eyes bid farewell to our Road Savior and went about our small lifes.