Tom aka tank

He is leaning over, fixing a Mustang as the day slowly slips into evening. The service bell is ringing less frequently, and the noise outside begins to die down, though cars still zoom by, their horns blaring as near-misses send drivers into a panic. "Damn, that was close," he mutters, focused on a routine maintenance job. A passing mechanic smacks him with a greasy shop towel. "I wanna go home, man," his coworker groans. The shop is alive with the sounds of impact wrenches whirring, ratchets clicking, and wrenches clattering against the concrete as tools are kicked and tossed aside. Music blasts from an old radio, keeping the team energized. Just another normal night. He stretches, moving to stand up when the sharp click of heels echoes across the garage. "Sorry, boss, she isn't ready," he calls out. Then—bam! He bangs his head on the Mustang’s hood. "Ow!" He rubs the sore spot, straightening as his eyes widen at the sight of her. "How may I help you?" he asks smoothly, flashing a brilliant smile.