This story is just the start of a story I had intended to write and discarded working with so this is what I had. I figured I'd plant something for people to add or edit to themselves. Cheers!
The aluminum garage door is broken and must be pulled up by hand. Inside the overwhelming smell of gasoline seeps into your pores making you feel greasy and wet. Shelving flanks the walls with nuts and bolts; this and that. Discarded tools lay out on a well-worn surface. The cars are jacked-up and left in the midst of a tune-up. A beaten recliner faces a small television surrounded by Canucks memorabilia. The seat is grooved and still warm from habitation. A quiet that would rival a monastery reverberates as you shift from wall-to-wall. The only window is dusty but still allows the sun to shine across a larger worktop Textbooks and automobile magazines lay under a thick blanket of dust and grime. The ventilation clicks on slowly and buzzes a song composed of one continuous note. The fan stirs the dust into a cloud of motes that's sole purpose is to choke you so you lift your shirt over your mouth. A makeshift barrier that reminds you you're an intruder here. The coveralls hang on hooks near the heavy steel door and wiggle from the fan; begging you to leave.