And that was that. After a week of hauling scrap, sorting bits and pieces of junk into piles of all-out garbage, and spare parts that he could sell for a reasonable price to anyone with a knack for mechanics, Dean had actually more or less managed to organize the junk yard. Sure, there was still plenty that was heaped up at odd angles, and he wasn't quite sure how to treat what he was kind of thinking of as his own alien landing pad (the crazies back in Rockwell would get a kick out of this), but he felt like the job was done enough for a scrapyard. And that would have to do.

He made himself a cup of coffee, pulled on his overalls and dragged out his welding equipment, and then started working on a piece of sculpture that he'd started earlier in the week. It was spring going into summer. He was feeling inspired.

There was even a sign up on the front gate, advertising that they were now hiring. Hiring for what, he had no idea. But hey, there was still a lot of scrap that needed to be hauled around. Maybe he could put some kid to work until there was a bit more order to this place.

[And McCoppin scrap is open for business! I will fling up an infopost on this place sooner or later, I swear.]