Seymour bent over the passenger-side fender digging in the engine bay looking for anything out of kilter. He leaned back, hands on his hips, to holler into the open car window.
“Fire ‘er up!” Seymour waved his grease rag over his head to signal ignition
Cecil, hugging the steering wheel with one arm turned the key, knowing it wouldn’t do more than click like a cricket.
“Ol’ girl’s fire went out long time ago,” Cecil muttered, craning down to look under the edge of the raised car hood.
Seymour threw up his hands in frustration. “Lemme just YouTube it.”