A sudden clanging sound echoed through the salvage yard, startling Hank awake. His eyes snapped open, and he groaned, his head pounding with a hangover. Blinking blearily, he took in his surroundings, trying to piece together where he was and how he had ended up there.
He was atop the bed of his 87 Ford pickup, surrounded by hulks of vehicles that lay scattered like skeletal remains forming a maze of twisted metal, broken glass, and weeds that had grown through the cracks in the concrete in his family's auto salvage yard.
Looking at his overalls stained with grease and spilled liquor he recalled what he was doing here, he was no stranger to alcohol-induced blackouts after an honest day of work, and today was one of those days.
Due to ingrained habit, he rubbed his scruffy beard as he gazed into the night sky. He found that night air was cool, and had a faint, eerie breeze as it whispered through the jagged metal and shattered windows.
