My car, my conscience, and calculations

My car is kaput. Cold as a mackerel. Frozen as an icicle. My stubborn, creative, car-savvy son has battled like Hercules to tame my Cerberus and bring it back from the Underworld. Nope. I’m scrambling for a replacement. My conscience dictates that I give as much fair warning to my clients as I can when…

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