He was disappointed to see grease from his hands smearing across the faded white towel, a sure sign that his hands hadn’t come clean again, not that they ever would. The black slime under his fingernails and around his cuticles and embedded in the grooves of his fingerprints were marks of the job, just like the navy blue coveralls or bandana he kept in his pocket for wiping his hands before touching anything important. He couldn’t be sure, but even after a shower every night he thought he could still smell the fumes from the garage. When he finally emerged from the bathroom and into the single main room of his apartment, it wasn’t even a full step to reach the table just inside his door where he kept his cell phone. He could see that he’d missed a call while he cleaned up and he grabbed at the phone, hoping it was Michelle who’d finally called. She’d been possibly the most confusing date he’d ever met. First, she reluctantly agreed to go, and then she’d insisted on getting herself to the restaurant, like she hadn’t already been driven around by him before.
