Mikhail
The garage doors block out the sunlight that tries to intrude on my self-imposed isolation. I need to be alone to think, and Rurik's garage offers me a twisted sanctuary. The two-car garage looks benign to the uninitiated, but it feeds my anger. Heavy ropes hang off hooks from the ceiling, and neat racks of tools hang on a corkboard in order of size. Everything is mundane until Rurik handles it. The cement floor is cracked in places where a great weight has slammed against it.
Muscles shaking, I stride through a connecting door into the second garage where a vintage Mustang is stored. It's amusing to actually see a car in here, knowing what this building was originally intended for. I lift back the protective cover from the front of the muscle car and stare at the black surface t
