With one hand, Jim pulled the yellow flyer from beneath the windshield wiper of his car.
"What now?"
Over the last few months, the parking garage had raised its rates and had restricted the number of available spaces to accommodate employees of the insurance company across the street. Parking was at a premium these days. With the construction boom in full swing and tourism at an all-time high, developers just couldn't seem to put up garages fast enough.
Since Jim didn't work for the insurance company, his space kept moving deeper into the bowels of the structure as the owners carved additional parking spaces for their largest tenant.
Draping his coat over his arm, he scanned the flyer.
"ATTENTION. Effective June 1, the Market Street Garage will become the corporate parking structure for First Mutual Indemnity Insurance Co. Only employees and guests will be allowed access to the garage. Any outstanding balance should be paid in full by that date. We have appreciated your business."
"Shit!" he exclaimed loud enough for the word to echo off the low ceiling in the subterranean chamber.
That's Monday, for chrissakes! Thanks for the notice.
He crumpled the flyer into a little ball and threw it. His eye fell on several other balled or torn up flyers. Evidently others had received the news with as much grace.
Jim climbed into the car, slinging his briefcase and jacket onto the passenger seat. He ran down a list of the garages he knew, but quickly discarded them all. They were obvious choices, and he was sure the other evicted parkers would be exploring them, too.
He glanced at his watch. 6:15 p.m. The traffic wouldn't be too bad at this hour.
Backing from his space for the last time, he decided to drive around the city for a while looking for another garage with vacancies.
The city blocks changed from offices and restaurants to storefronts and apartments to dilapidated tenements and vacant, weed-choked lots. Upon reaching one particularly distressed warehouse district, Jim decided that he was out of luck.
Litter blew down the streets, and grey weeds thrust through the pavement. Across an empty lot, he saw three lean dogs with dull, matted hair and feral eyes that followed his car.
Turning down a side street, he started a U-turn when he saw a large sign out of the corner of his eye, bright and clean and incongruous with the rest of the scenery.
Parking $7 Daily.
Vacancies.
"No," he laughed, looking through his rearview mirror. "I can't be this lucky."
It was set out a little from a squat, one-story building, long and narrow, that fronted the street. The building seemed new compared with its tumbledown neighbors, and Jim could see car bumpers gleaming within, like metal teeth in a dark, smiling mouth.
He smiled back at it, pleased with his good fortune.
The sign was attached to a large, metal cabinet with hundreds of tiny, numbered compartments. A smaller sign at eye-level instructed him to either see an attendant or leave a business card in one of the open boxes along with a check for the monthly charge.
Jim searched for an attendant, but couldn't find one. With only a little hesitation, he wrote a check, folded it around his business card and tucked the parcel into the box marked "1103," closed and locked the tiny door.
Feeling happy with himself, he climbed back into his car and pulled away in a swirl of dust and garbage.
He didn't hear the scream, low but rising in pitch, or the blare of a car horn coming from the open mouth of the garage.
)
