I was walking around the van, looking at the tires, when someone said, “She's a beauty, isn't she?”

A young man in wet blue overalls was standing behind me with a bucket and a sponge. He looked about twenty-three. His name tag said Tyler – Lot Attendant.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wash the cars. But I know a lot about this one. I read the whole manual. Twice.”

He put down his bucket.

“Do you want a bottle of water, sir? You look like you've been out in it all day.”

“I have,” I said. “Thank you.”

He got me a cold bottle of water from the customer fridge. Then he opened the back of the van and showed me everything.

The cargo space. The shelving system. The battery range: a hundred and sixty miles, which was plenty for a city route. How long it took to charge. How much cheaper it was to run than a gas van. Even how the seat could be adjusted for a driver's bad back.

“My dad drove a delivery truck for twenty years,” Tyler said. “His back's ruined. This seat would've saved him.”

He knew more about that van than anyone I'd ever spoken to.

“Tyler,” I said. “Why are you washing cars? You should be selling them.”

He went a little red.

“I'm trying,” he said. “They say I'm not ready yet.”