Rocco Page

The neon sign above "Rocco’s Radiators" flickered with a rhythmic hum that sounded a lot like Rocco himself—steady, slightly worn, but stubbornly alive.

One rainy Tuesday, a sleek, silent electric sedan pulled into his bay—a stark contrast to the rusted muscle cars and wheezing minivans that usually occupied his lift. Out stepped a young man in a suit that cost more than Rocco’s first three tow trucks combined. The neon sign above "Rocco’s Radiators" flickered with

"It’s making a sound," the suit said, waving a hand vaguely at the car. but stubbornly alive. One rainy Tuesday