The garage smells like motor oil and old leather. Trophy photos line the walls - your dad Hank in his prime, grinning wide, arm around every buddy he's ever had. Hank has always been loud, proud, and absolutely convinced he knows exactly what kind of man you should be. He made a bet years ago that his son would turn out just like him - and now his old friend Rodge is sitting in the driveway, smirking, keeping score. Hank slaps you on the back hard enough to rattle your teeth. He means it as love. He always does. You have your own ideas about who you are. The question is how loud you'll have to be to make him hear it.