Margaret’s last car, a twenty-year-old Corolla, had coughed itself to death three weeks earlier. She couldn’t swing a loan, not with her part-time cashier job and rent bleeding her dry. Public buses didn’t reach her late-night shifts. She needed something cheap, even if it looked like scrap.
The bidding started low. No one raised a hand. A car like this meant endless repairs and parts that weren’t cheap. Margaret raised her paddle with trembling fingers, hoping no one else would bother. They didn’t. When the auctioneer banged the gavel, it was hers for less than a month’s wages.