Back when I was stuck driving worn out piles of schit, I was on a first name basis at many junk yards up and down I-5.

Matter of fact, I pretty much restored a '78 Celica out of crap I pulled off wrecks with a 14mm socket and a gerber multitool.

Word of warning, the guys at I-5 Auto Wrecking are real azzholes. Don't ask any questions except "Mind if I take a look?"

Nothing makes you feel schittier than trying to impress a date in a car that the battery mount is so corroded out, that every time you take a right turn too hard, the battery falls against the engine arcing the positive post and causing clouds of yellow steam to belch out that you have to throw open the hood, shove your face down into the acidic fumes, and try to heave that b*tch back up into the bungie cords and coat hangers your rigged up, all on a dark shoulder in the middle of the night.

Maybe that's why Hank is always so crabby. His '76 Pinto with the Ford/Dole sticker does it every morning.