Johnson''s Lot was the kind of place that seemed to belong to another world, one long abandoned by time and ambition.

    The cracked pavement sprawled out in uneven patches, littered with broken glass and scraps of rusted metal.

    Weeds sprouted defiantly through the fissures, thriving where most things failed.

    Places like this were technically open for the taking.

    No one cared enough to enforce ownership, and no one ambitious enough wanted to be here.

    The lot was a graveyard of forgotten dreams — old cars, broken vending machines, and crumbling walls that whispered tales of neglect.

    Ethan stepped carefully, his boots crunching against the loose gravel as he made his way toward the food truck.

    He spotted it parked at the far end, its once-bright colors faded into a depressing palette of rust and grime.

    He reached the truck and stopped, staring at it for a long moment. It was worse than he''d expected.

    The side panels were riddled with dents, and holes peppered the roof, offering little protection from the elements.

    The tires were flat, the windows clouded with dirt and cobwebs. He hesitated before opening the door, almost dreading what he''d find inside.

    With a deep breath, he grabbed the handle and yanked it open.

    The stench hit him first — a rancid mix of spoils, grease, and something far worse. Ethan gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve as he peered inside.

    The interior was chaos. Rusted appliances lined the walls, their surfaces coated in a thick layer of grime.

    The counters were chipped and stained, with food scraps that looked like they''d been sitting there for years.

    And then there were the rats.

    Ethan froze as one darted across the floor, disappearing into a hole in the corner. Another poked its head out from beneath a cabinet, its beady eyes staring at him before scurrying away.

    The workshop was a modest building tucked between a car wash and an old hardware store. Inside, the air smelled of motor oil and rubber, and the sound of clanging tools echoed off the walls.

    The mechanic''s team got to work immediately. They hosed down the truck, scrubbing away years of dirt and grime.

    The engine, which had been clogged with debris, was carefully dismantled and cleaned. Holes in the roof and walls were patched up with sheets of metal, welded in place with precision.

    Ethan watched from a nearby bench, sipping on a can of soda the mechanic had offered him. It was strange, seeing the transformation unfold.

    The hours ticked by, and slowly but surely, the truck began to look... usable.

    By the time the mechanic called him over, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.

    "Well," the mechanic said, wiping his hands on a rag, "it''s not brand new, but it''s a hell of a lot better than it was."

    Ethan approached the truck, his breath catching in his throat.

    The exterior had been scrubbed clean, the dents smoothed out as much as possible.

    The tires had been replaced, and the once-cloudy windows now gleamed in the fading light.

    Inside, the transformation was even more striking.

    The appliances had been cleaned and polished, the counters repaired, and the floor cleared of any signs of rats.

    The engine purred softly when the mechanic turned the key, a sound that filled Ethan with an unexpected sense of pride.

    "It''s ready for use," the mechanic said, clapping Ethan on the back.

    Ethan nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thanks. Really."

    The mechanic waved him off. "No problem. Good luck with it."

    As Ethan climbed into the driver''s seat, he couldn''t help but feel a spark of optimism. The truck was far from perfect, but it was his.