Fix It Again Tony

It hadn’t occurred to me until yesterday that Bill’s landlord is Fix It Again Tony, the infamous mechanic you’d take your Fiat to when it broke down. F for fix, I for it, again Tony.

Tony’s just a little guy. He’s Italian and he always has a smile on his face. He’s a nice man with a good sense of humor.

I was aware of Tony’s history. I knew he was a Fiat mechanic at one time, and when Fiat stopped shipping cars to the states, Tony was the mechanic that took care of the cars still under warranty in the Los Angeles area. He has since changed occupations. He sells real estate now.

I saw Tony the other day. He showed up to Bill’s wearing a pair of old fashioned blue sweat pants and a sweatshirt. He was smiling and talking with his usual thick Italian accent. I like Tony, but there was something about him that was pulling at me.

             I found myself staring blankly at the ground yesterday for no apparent reason. I was in a trance. I knew I was in a trance, but I couldn’t pull myself out of it. I was looking at the sunlit dirt and shadows from the trees, when it hit me. Tony, was Fix It Again Tony. He was famous.