The Paintshop - oilrag
The car, an obscure Japanese model, with an even more curious model name, had been under the the occasional shade of a coconut palm for the last week as I passed by, heading out of town. At first it had seemed as though it were being given a thorough valet, but soon it was to my interest, a bare shell, a skeleton of a car, still on the road, in the position it had been parked.

Next door was a small sweet shop, a similar, grindingly poor corrugated roof and salvaged wood premises,selling candy and Coco Cola, which was bottled just down the road, all the better for the taste of sugar derived straight from the cane, growing along with rice paddies at the edge of town.

Or perhaps it was just my imagination being fed by the heat and exotic flora as large bats flew under the eaves at night and cockroaches as big as your thumb evaded the giant toads that crept out of their holes at dusk.
The iced San Miguel drunk on the veranda to the blare of musical air horns, two stroke engines and booming rock music, the moon seeming larger and tilted to an angle in a sky filled with unfamiliar stars.

Another 6am dawn, vocal armageddon to the cockerels in every backyard, flesh based trumpets preparing for their next big fight.

The shell of the car had now aquired a coat of primer, still `parked` on the road in its position and prior to that, welding with the shell held at a tilt by two beams of wood, had illuminated the night. Dusk at 6pm, the lessoning of the heat that made the concrete road surface and shell bearable to human touch.

The paint had gone on easily, and much flatting and polishing had transcended the harsh roadside environment, with familiarity of process and material gained over many years.
Soon, as in a freeze frame film on my twice daily passage, the shell reaquired its refurbished mechanical parts followed by reupholstered seats, it was on its wheels gleaming as new in cherry red and then, gone.

Regards
The Paintshop - milkyjoe
i should take more water with it if i were you !