THE LUBRICATION ZONE
I was hurrying towards my only appointment for months when the trap shut. The Martians had got me again. There was nothing important in the offing, merely a film crew waiting for me to play sleazy gweilo number three, but this time the Martian Snafu Ray hit me in the very seat of my humanity: my car. They had timed it so that the car belched, hissed and expired just as I was turning the corner into a little place in The New Territories called Nowhere Convenient. Then to tighten their death grip on my sense of well being, Ali in his oily pyjamas, smiling a yellow toothed smile, emerged from the stacked rotting wrecks of "Ali's Asian Lubrication Zone," saying, "It is just a burst radiator. It will be ready tomorrow morning."
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