Percival wiped the grease off his fingers with a rag that only made his hand dirtier. Though he was sixteen, he was insignificant. His dark fingers yielded and the wrench dropped from his hands. He dusted off his knees and looked around. The shop was gray and empty, aside from his boss' car. It was a gray Chevy, one that hadn't started in nearly a month. With the hint of a smile, Percival noted the car blended in with the rest of the shop. Withdrawing his timecard, the boy kicked his coat off his shoes. He put on both and walked through the garage door, making sure the bell rang loudly so the boss would know to close up.