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| Jerry's Junkers |
This Place was built at a crossroads between desert and mountain, forest and ocean. South of the river that bisects the city is the great, expansive desert where enterprising citizens are expanding the city boarders, one business at a time.
Out in the stark sun squats Jerry’s Junkers, an acre of parched land fenced in with chain links and barbed wire. Inside the gate is a fleet of ruined vehicles, waiting for human vultures.
Jerry protects his hoard of transmissions and engine parts jealously, with state-of-the-art security cameras and motion detectors. The entrance is an electronic gate that only Jerry has the code for. The man himself - short, hairy, and overweight - sits in the small, air conditioned building just next to the gate. Inside of the plank board shack, he watches a grid of small screens endlessly, monitoring his collection of twisted metal and broken chassis.
Each car on the asphalt was once new – shining glossy in the sunlight – but whether it was after an accident or a financial crisis, they had all ended up at Jerry’s, dull and rusting. Money-conscious citizens take the 213 loop from downtown or Route 65 from the North to get to Jerry’s, where they can seek out and buy car parts at a discount. Of course, Jerry offers no guarantees and charges a fee just for entering the junkyard. Each car is a promise that might pay off with a cheap repair or a rare part. But still, no guarantees.
The sun climbs in the sky and Jerry lowers the shade of his service window. He’s still accepting customers, but the sun’s rays are too strong to ignore for long. The western sea winds almost make it to the junkyard, but anyone coming to pick the carcasses of old machines should bring sunscreen and water. There’s no telling how long one might spend going from one line of ruined vehicles to the next.
This red truck still has its suspension, and that green sedan has a good gear box. This white SUV, on the other hand, is just an empty shell. Even the steering wheel and the seats are gone. The only evidence left that it once belonged to a person at all is the pink crayon scrawl on the inside of the backseat passenger side door: Dayla hearts Joey.
Near the front, hard to miss, is an old Ford. It was minted on the day Jerry was born, but he doesn’t know that. Old blue paint is faded to almost white. The tires are gone, and the headlights are busted out. Still, it sits and waits for just the right moment. Just the right… One day someone will find it and rescue it from the asphalt hell. One day it will be restored. Until then it will stand against the sand blasts and the rust.
Out in the stark sun squats Jerry’s Junkers, an acre of parched land fenced in with chain links and barbed wire. Inside the gate is a fleet of ruined vehicles, waiting for human vultures.
Jerry protects his hoard of transmissions and engine parts jealously, with state-of-the-art security cameras and motion detectors. The entrance is an electronic gate that only Jerry has the code for. The man himself - short, hairy, and overweight - sits in the small, air conditioned building just next to the gate. Inside of the plank board shack, he watches a grid of small screens endlessly, monitoring his collection of twisted metal and broken chassis.
Each car on the asphalt was once new – shining glossy in the sunlight – but whether it was after an accident or a financial crisis, they had all ended up at Jerry’s, dull and rusting. Money-conscious citizens take the 213 loop from downtown or Route 65 from the North to get to Jerry’s, where they can seek out and buy car parts at a discount. Of course, Jerry offers no guarantees and charges a fee just for entering the junkyard. Each car is a promise that might pay off with a cheap repair or a rare part. But still, no guarantees.
The sun climbs in the sky and Jerry lowers the shade of his service window. He’s still accepting customers, but the sun’s rays are too strong to ignore for long. The western sea winds almost make it to the junkyard, but anyone coming to pick the carcasses of old machines should bring sunscreen and water. There’s no telling how long one might spend going from one line of ruined vehicles to the next.
This red truck still has its suspension, and that green sedan has a good gear box. This white SUV, on the other hand, is just an empty shell. Even the steering wheel and the seats are gone. The only evidence left that it once belonged to a person at all is the pink crayon scrawl on the inside of the backseat passenger side door: Dayla hearts Joey.
Near the front, hard to miss, is an old Ford. It was minted on the day Jerry was born, but he doesn’t know that. Old blue paint is faded to almost white. The tires are gone, and the headlights are busted out. Still, it sits and waits for just the right moment. Just the right… One day someone will find it and rescue it from the asphalt hell. One day it will be restored. Until then it will stand against the sand blasts and the rust.
It is one of Jerry’s Junkers.
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