In a Puff of Black Smoke…

“You’ve got to get all the old gasket off the intake manifold,” I told George insistently. “If the carburetor doesn’t make an airtight seal, it will run too lean if at all.”

“I’m trying! I’m trying!” George exclaimed, scraping away with a paint edge.

After one more trip to the auto parts store for a fuel filter and a PCV filter and valve, I installed the carburetor – hooking up the accelerator and fuel lines.  I put the air cleaner back on and screwed it down.

“Give it a crank,” I told George who was sitting in the car with a big cigar hanging out of his mouth. 

The car cranked and cranked, and then the engine roared to life belching rich black smoke out the exhaust pipe for a short moment.  I sighed with relief as the Caprice settled into a smooth idle.  It had been years and years since I had rebuilt a carburetor and I was afraid I had forgotten something or didn’t follow the directions correctly.

“Thanks, man,” George said, our grimy and greasy hands clasping.

“You know?” I told him. “Me and you both would be pissed drunk by now if we still drank.  Beer and working on cars seemed to go together.”

“Don’t think I didn’t think about having a few beers,” George said with a grin on the day of his seventh week of sobriety.

“What a good hobby!” I thought on the drive home up the street.  I hadn’t felt such a sense of satisfaction like that in years.