Toxie Unsealing the Pump

An overturned iron pump casing sat behind the auto yard fence. Neglected. Caked in dried black grime. Two rusted hex bolts pinned a warped brass cover tight. I reached into my belt for the chrome socket from this morning. Slid it over the first bolt head. Tight. Clean fit. I braced my boots against the gravel, pushed the mop handle against the socket, and leaned my weight down. Squeak. Snap. The rusted bolt groaned and twisted free. Under the brass plate, a puddle of thick, neon-green industrial lubricant sat undisturbed. Fresh. No dirt in the gears. Tromaville has honest parts buried everywhere.