Before the sun climbs over the rooftops, the phone already hums at the office of car scrappers sydney. The calendar is crammed more closely than a sardine might be. The hero of the novel will be Mick. Mostly operating behind the wheel of a noisy tow truck, he is half therapist, part mechanic, and part juggling most days.

Usually, first stop is a secret. In the suburbs, a driveway could be muddy one day and shining another. People call with exhausted hatchbacks filled to the roof holding goods they wanted to remove three years ago using family vehicles. Every morning at his work, Mick smiles. “Hand over the keys and let’s get this show rolling,” he says.

His tools are now stored in muscular memory. First is paperwork: confirmation of ownership, a cursory check of the VIN, the painful moment when a customer passes over a fading rego slip and moans. More commonly than you would think, “my granddad taught me to drive in this old thing.” Sure, Mick says. Everyone has a story, and every car has secrets hidden under the seat; he has heard everything.

Then he will swirl about the car like a soup tasting chef. Now nothing surprises him; flat tires, missing mirrors, half-tracked doors—nothing. Among the things you would laugh at are a single pink Croc, coins stuck to the console with melted chocolate, or the mythological false mustache buried inside the glovebox. Every find could point to another story for his buddies back in the yard.

The yard is still bustling with activity. Cars weigh, are laid out, and their fluids are painstakingly emptied. Everything recyclable is tagged for use once more. Mick’s job is not glamorous, but tens of thousands of old heaps from backyards and alleyways are saved from rusting away. “Some people think it’s just scrap, but half these bits end up in something new a fridge door, a park bench, who knows?” he asks straight forwardly.

By the end of the day, Mick has helped families through farewells and preserved real estate from forty eight tiny driveway decorations. He will share stories with the crew already hypothesizing on which odd call tomorrow might bring as twilight falls. Every day is fresh, every job slightly different, but one thing is certain: once Mick’s on the case, even the oldest clunker gets a shot for a new chapter. One bloke’s rubbish heap stands for another bloke’s good deed accomplished.