“Still, they got you out of trouble, the old crank handle,” the old man said, his voice quivering. “These new fangled businesses are not nearly as reliable. Still, I always cranked my car in my day.” He wriggled his eyebrows to emphasise his point and shifted in his seat, the hard wood painful on his ageing bones. His breathing was somewhat laboured. It was this damn weather, you see. Hot one minute, cold the next - unexpected for so late in the Summer. He would breathe easier if the weather would only make up its mind. His companion studied his slouched body and tried to ignore the worry for his friend that was gnawing deep down inside.
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