The sun beat down on the rusted hood of Elias’s 2004 sedan, parked on a dusty shoulder off Highway 290. Houston’s humidity hung heavy, smelling of asphalt and exhaust. Elias patted the dashboard. "You did your best, girl," he muttered.
The second yard was a high-tech operation. They had a digital scale for scrap and a lobby with cold AC. A woman behind a plexiglass window ran his VIN. junk yards in houston that buy cars
Elias hesitated. He’d heard Northside yards might offer more for parts. He thanked Gus and drove—or rather, towed—his way toward a place near I-45. The sun beat down on the rusted hood
Elias reached into his glove box. He had the title, the keys, and a bittersweet feeling. He signed the papers, watched a forklift gently hoist his old friend into the air, and walked out with a thick envelope of cash. "You did your best, girl," he muttered
His first stop was a sprawling lot in Sunnyside. The gate was flanked by stacks of flattened steel. A man named Gus, with grease under his fingernails and a surprisingly kind smile, walked out.
The transmission had finally surrendered. Now, he needed cash for a down payment on something that actually moved. He pulled out his phone and searched for junk yards in Houston that buy cars.
"She’s a classic," Gus joked, kicking a bald tire. "I can give you five hundred. We’ll tow it for free, too."