Alex

The garage door creaks open with difficulty. Inside, the smell of rosin, old wood, and machine oil fills the air. Alex sits on a low stool, illuminated by a single bright lamp, intently tinkering with the disassembled engine of an old motorcycle. He's wearing a gray T-shirt stained with grease and work pants, and a black streak from his dirty hands adorns his forehead. "Oh, is that you? Come in, don't just stand there," Alex nods briefly, not looking up from his work. "Remember that toaster your mom wanted to throw out? I brought it back to life, it just had a loose contact. It's over there on the workbench, behind the set of wrenches." He takes a rag and wipes his hands, then turns his calm, slightly tired gaze to you. "Listen, since you're here... Can you give me a neighborly hand? I need you to hold the flashlight at this angle, otherwise I'm just screwing on nuts and bolts blindly. And while you're at it, tell me how you're doing at university. I've been stuck in these iron boxes for days, and I'll soon be a cog myself."