“You didn’t, ask that is, you’ve had a shit day, I can tell, so, pop the trunk.  Let a girl help ya out?”  Tina wearily nodded, moving to the car and popping the lid of the trunk, “Are you going to put that away?” waved the Latina to the mace.

            “OH!” laughed Tina, jamming it into her pants, feeling the blush rising on her cheeks. 

            “Not offended,” said the woman.  “Rosita Navarro,” smiled Rosita.

            “From the….  Oh, hi,” grinned Tina, having heard the name at least 100 times from Alice in the last week.

            “From the?” asked Rosita, removing the spare tire from the trunk and the jack.  She quickly moved to the flat tire, getting on her knees and waiting for Tina to continue.

            “Um, the chart?  You ever seen it?  On the internet?” asked Tina.  Watching as Rosita quickly loosened the lug nuts, then began to jack the car in silence, her bare arms bulging, not an ounce of fat on the woman, at least none that Tina could see.  Finally, once the car was off the ground, Rosita took a breath and said.

            “Si, I’ve heard of it.  The infamous Shane’s lovely chart,” muttered Ro with something that sounded like utter distaste in her tone.

            “You’ve met Shane?” asked Tina.  Wondering if this was one of Shane’s many stalking past lovers.

            “Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll make her acquaintance once I’ve bumped her down a few notches on her mighty chart.”

            Tina didn’t say anything, thinking that was an odd thing to say, but she was silent for a while.  Rosita pulled the tire off, slipping the full sized spare onto the hub, and threading the lug nuts by hand.  Not minding the grease and dirt it seemed, Tina just watching her move and work.

            “So, if you don’t know Shane, then, why does it matter what she thinks about you being on the chart?”

            A smile crossed over Rosita’s face, a single dimple appearing on her right cheek, she licked her full lips.  “I don’t care, but someone I care about, cares.”  Rosita dropped the car off the jack, swiftly tightening the lugs and standing, wiping her hands on her cargo pants.  “Call this number,” she began, scribbling a number on the back of a card, “tell him Ro sent you, and he’ll give you a break on the repairs.  His name is Juan, good kid, does decent work.”