Adam Grey is a second-year university student, part-time employee at his local garage, severely sleep-deprived and sick of his neighbour's shit.
After three months of constantly listening to his neighbour blare dubstep at 2am, Adam enlists the help...
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Adam hurriedly pulled his bike to a stop and leaned it against the wall of the garage. He still had two minutes to spare but the garage owner and Adam's boss, Marty, took any excuse to scold Adam for reckless punctuality.
Shoving his earphones into his backpack, Adam made his way around to the front of the garage. Like clockwork, Marty was leaning in the doorway with a scowl on his face and a cigarette butt between his lips.
He glared at Adam as the boy came into view. "Cutting it close, aren't ya?"
"I've still got two minutes."
"What'd you say to me, boy?"
Adam stopped in the doorway, turning to face Marty's wrath head on. He'd learnt early on that it was best to get the daily episode of sullen disdain out of the way sooner rather than later.
Marty Brown was a bitter, overweight man in his seventies. His oily hair was streaked grey with age and hands permanently stained with grease. The skin around his eyes was stretched thin and discoloured in some areas across his arms. The Marty's Garage shirt he wore never changed since he opened the shop in 1964, a horrendous mix of grey and red that assaulted all the senses. He'd been married once but it didn't work out.
Churlish and unrefined, people knew what to expect when they brought their car to Marty. He was a redneck with a permanent odour of motor fuel and a propensity to jeer at anyone who didn't know what a torque wrench was. The underarms of his shirt were soaked with sweat stains and if you didn't get out of his way fast enough, he'd bulldoze you down with a single nudge.
Adam had started working for Marty when he'd turned fifteen. Marty hadn't been interested in hiring a "delinquent James Dean knockoff who was coming into the age of drugs and parties" but could see Adam was desperate. He finally won Marty over when he worked out the issue on an '86 Ford Taurus none of Marty's other guys could solve.
Marty had thrust a shirt in his hands and told Adam to shut his trap and get to work. The teen had been more than happy to oblige. Fixing cars was something he was good at and Marty was willing to let him work after school provided his grades didn't slip. Sometimes Adam believed Marty had a heart, but that could just be acid reflux.
"2006 Mazda." Marty tossed Adam a set of keys after he'd put his backpack in the office. "Oil needs changin'. Rotate the tyres while you're at it. God only knows this bitch will be over my ass about the bill but that's what you get for blowin' nine grand on a piece of shit."
Adam caught the keys, shaking his head to himself as he made his way over to the red Mazda in the corner of the garage. It seemed like Marty was in a mood worse than usual today.
Marty had three other men that worked for him. Jack, Eddie and Dale, all in their fifties and all divorced or never married. Their no-bullshit attitudes paid well for customers but it was amusing to watch their contests for who could piss Marty off the fastest.
Everyone would be clearing out for the day within an hour. The guys would make fun of Adam for having to work late and clear out, heading home to their TV dinners and store-bought beers. They'd be passed out by eight.
Adam shoved his earphones in and crouched down beside the Mazda. It wasn't much - just a scrap of metal with a new paint job - but it was familiar, and it was comforting.
Juggling the keys in his hand, Adam turned on his playlist and set to work.
***
Night had well and truly settled in by the time Adam rolled his bike up his driveway.
The neighbourhood was quiet, including the house next door to Adam's. His neighbour's car wasn't in his driveway so Adam took that as a good sign and headed inside to take a shower.
It was ten o'clock by the time he was towelling his hair dry in his bedroom. Dressed in a white tee and sweats, Adam walked over to the corner where he'd abandoned his backpack and pulled out his schoolwork.
Notebooks, pens and highlighters littered the bed as Adam made himself comfortable in the middle. His silver Lenovo laptop was worn with age and ran slow but Adam didn't complain. He'd gotten it second hand from a used electronics store in town.
The screen had a small crack in the corner and the surface had a large dent but Adam didn't care about owning the flashiest things. He could barely afford to eat each day, never mind own the newest upgrades of everything. His phone was already three models old and that had been bought second-hand too.
It was late and Adam's stomach growled hungrily. He hadn't eaten since that morning and although he technically could eat at work since he was alone, he didn't bring food and sure as hell wasn't going to pay six bucks for a pack of chips from the vending machine Marty kept in the office.
The products weren't cheap but Marty's slogan was to rip off the people who ripped him off first because those rich fuckers on the north side of town can afford to be knocked down a few pegs, you get me boy? Let's see em' sweat for a change.
Adam could go downstairs and eat but it was useless. He knew what little food he had in his fridge and the pantry was even more depressing. There may be a leftover pack of ramen if he was lucky but Adam was too tired to eat now.
Yawning heavily, he flicked through the pages of his notebook. One of his tutors had assigned a worksheet and three chapters to read by tomorrow, plus a biomechanics quiz online from another class. Exams were also fast approaching and Adam hadn't even had time to create his study outline yet.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was oily given that Adam had run out of shampoo on Friday. He'd have to remind himself to pick some up at the store during the week.
It was quarter past two when Adam's textbook finally closed for the night. He tossed it aside and let out the yawn he'd kept in for the past hour. His eyelids were drooping and his body felt heavy from the exhaustion.
After packing his bag for tomorrow and brushing his teeth, he climbed into bed and settled into the sheets. The bedside lamp had only just gone out when the first wave of bass sounded.
Adam bolted up in bed, wondering if he'd just imagined it in his tired state. The window shook a moment later as dubstep began to thunder from the house next door.
"Oh hell no!"
Adam jumped out of bed and threw the window open. The window opposite him was closed with the blinds drawn but it didn't stop Adam from yelling, "Hey! Asshole! It's two o'clock in the morning! Are you serious right now!"
There was no response, though Adam wouldn't have heard it over the deafening synth. He slammed the window shut in spite and stormed over to his bed, swiping his phone up.
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