Open by mentioning a small detail that doesn't fit. Push off from this if it helps: static on an untuned radio.

It doesn't matter what the dog does. I left when I left. The static was just there. You're making a timeline out of static and barking, which is a neat trick if you're trying to pin me to a specific second. I was in the coat. I was out the door. The radio was loud. The dog is loud at different times. Maybe they overlap. Maybe they don't. Why are we dissecting the exact minute I stepped out? I'm not on trial for the dog. I just needed to get to the garage.

I didn't mention it because I wasn't expecting anyone to care where I parked the car. I was fixing the radiator in the garage. The pipe was leaking again. It's a mess down there, always oil and water. I was just standing there, wiping my hands, waiting for it to cool. That's it. Nothing magical, nothing suspicious. Just rust and cold air. Why do you need to know what I was doing before the dog started? It's just a garage.

You think a garage is a factory floor? It's not. I wasn't waiting for anything specific, just the pipe to stop hissing. You want to believe I was waiting for a contact or a signal. I was just staring at a wrench I forgot to pick up. That's the waiting. It's boring. I stood there. The rust is loud if you listen to it. You're looking for a conspiracy in a leaky pipe. It's just a garage. I left when the sound stopped. That's all.

I looked at it because it was there. It was a stupid wrench, lying in the grease. I didn't pick it up because I didn't need to move it, just see it. You're obsessing over the wrench like it's a clue. It's not. It's just metal. I wasn't staring at it for fifteen minutes waiting for something to happen. I was just tired. I stood there, looking at the tool, thinking about how much I hate this job. Then I left. That's it.

I don't owe you a straight line. You're looking for a pattern in the mess I'm trying to clean up. The job is boring. The garage is real. The wrench is there. I hate the work because the radiator never fixes itself. It's just a bad day. You want me to admit I'm lying? Fine, maybe I was just standing there. But you're the one spinning the wrench into a confession. I'm tired of this. Can we drop it?

I work at the depot on the edge of town. Unloading pallets. The air smells like cardboard and wet dog. I hate the smell, mostly. It sticks in your hair. The garage was a shortcut because the truck was still warm, and I didn't want to drive back through the rain. That's why I stood there. Not to fix the pipe, just to let the engine cool down before I moved it. You're making a mystery out of a truck idling in a cold room. It's just a job. Nothing deeper.

It was the same garage. The truck had the heating on full blast, so the radiator hose cracked from the pressure. I was trying to patch it with my hands while the engine idled. Then the heat killed the leak, but the engine stayed hot. You're splitting hairs between a leak and a cooldown. It's just mechanics. The truck is there, the garage is there. I didn't switch locations. I just stopped talking about the leak and started talking about the engine. It's the same damn scene.

Don't look at my hand. It's fine, mostly. Just a red mark on the thumb. I didn't peel skin off. I just touched it, felt the heat, pulled back. The patch was tape I had in my pocket. Cheap stuff. You want a scar? There isn't one. The engine stopped. I didn't need to burn myself to fix a hose. It was a stupid move, yeah. But it worked. Stop asking to see the hand. It's just skin.

Nothing. It's just a thumb. Red from the heat, maybe a tiny scab if you squint. You're trying to turn a scab into evidence of a crime. There's no hidden message in the skin. I touched the hose, it hurt, I taped it. That's the whole story. The garage is just a place I stood. The hand is just a hand. You're looking for a ghost in a burn mark. There isn't one. Stop digging.

It's not a hand, it's just a thumb. There's nothing to show you. I'm not going to strip off my glove for your inspection. The red mark is from the hose, the scab is from the tape. You're treating me like a suspect in a murder trial when I'm just a guy with a burnt thumb and a bad day. The tape is still there. The truck is still running. You want the hand? You're not getting it. Drop it.

The glove was in the pocket. I put it on after the burn. You think I've lost my mind, switching the narrative to cover a track. I didn't switch the hand. I just covered it. The burn happened, the glove went on. That's the timeline. You're trying to make me admit to a second hand, a different Cass, but there's only one of me, just a guy with a useless thumb and a truck that won't start. Stop looking for the glove as a lie. It's just protection.

The engine died. The truck won't start now because the hose burst and flooded the firebox. I stood there, glove on, thumb burning, while the engine seized. You want a single ending? It's a mess of endings. The truck was hot, then it wasn't. The hose was leaking, then it wasn't. The glove went on, then it stayed on. That's what happened. The garage is full of ghosts now. You're not getting a clean line out of this. It's just a dead truck and a guy who can't turn the key.