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Cuban Cars

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Posted

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CC Activity number: #75
Participants: (Community Members) , @Crash
Duration: 30+min
Screenshots:  https://imgur.com/a/Cvno3PX
Brief story

 

 

The garage was open again, business running smooth. Customers rolled in one after another, each with a different issue—some needing quick fixes, others requiring a bit more work. I was handling things as usual, making sure every ride left in top shape.

While I was busy under the hood of a car, I glanced over and spotted someone familiar—Mr. Crash, one of the Cuban Cars guys, chilling on the sofa in the lounge area. Looked like he was just here to hang out, soaking in the garage atmosphere while we worked.

Between wrench turns and engine checks, we got to talking. The conversation wasn’t just about cars—we talked about life, the grind, and whatever else came up. The kind of talk that made time pass without even noticing.

Engines roared, tools clanked, and the air was filled with the familiar mix of motor oil, sweat, and fresh coffee. We knocked out repairs, sent customers on their way with their rides running smooth, and just kicked back in between.

By the time the night wound down, the garage was quiet again, just the hum of the last car driving off. Mr. Crash gave a nod before heading out, and I leaned back against my workbench, taking another sip of coffee.

Another good day—steady work, real conversations, and the kind of company that made the grind feel worth it.

Posted

alt text
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CC Activity number: #77
Participants: (Community Members)
Duration: 30+min
Screenshots:  https://imgur.com/a/XZOYmH1
Brief story

 

 

The garage was open again, and this time, I was running things solo. No crew, no backup—just me, my tools, and the steady flow of cars pulling in. The smell of oil and metal filled the air, and the only sounds were the occasional engine revs, the clank of wrenches, and the hum of the highway outside.

One by one, customers rolled in. Some had simple problems—low tire pressure, battery swaps, quick tune-ups. Others brought in rides that had clearly been through hell, needing serious work. Either way, I handled them, no questions asked.

Between jobs, I’d take a moment to lean back, sip some coffee, and just take in the atmosphere. The garage had its own rhythm—moments of calm, then bursts of work when a new car rolled in. The kind of grind I didn’t mind.

By the time the last car was fixed up and sent on its way, the garage was quiet again. I wiped the grease off my hands, took one last look around, then leaned against the workbench, letting out a breath.

Another day, another batch of cars back on the road. No big moments, no drama—just steady work, and that was fine by me.

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