When the Badger Brigade needs a place to rest their weary heads or rebuild their tattered cars, they come here. When they need advice or opinions or help reigniting the passions so often extinguished as loss after loss and break after break weigh heavy on tired shoulders, they come here. If they are out scavenging newer parts in wrecking yards or testing old ones in the canyons beyond the city lights and they lose their way back, they call upon the den mates to help guide them here.
This place where lights stay on around the clock and noises echo into the dark night and early morning. Where laughter and curses bounce off metal in equal turns. This place where nothing and no one is considered unsalvageable and work and driving are considered therapeutic. The animals here are not tame, nor domesticated, nor always warm and fuzzy. They are wild, reckless, and, at times, off-putting. They are selective of their company and loyal to a fault, and their honesty at times brutal. But in this place, despite the solitary silence and snarls that often come from the focus or the breaking thereof, the animals protect their own. This place is where the animals call home.
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