Eight
I pulled up twenty minutes later to Watchers Auto and Body. It was in a rough side of town, not too far from the race site. There were no trashcans on the street out in front of garages. Instead, a set of large green dumpsters sat at the end of the cul-de-sac I came across. Numerous cars lined driveways, many which sat on cement blocks instead of wheels.
Where I came from there was a clear division of where you lived and where you worked. Not so in this part of town. On the opposite side of the main street it looked as though I’d stepped into an industrial zone. Body shops, hardware stores, mechanic’s signs for foreign and domestic cars beamed bright under the sun’s glare.
I pulled up and parked on the street outside Watchers Auto and Body. The corrugated, metal door to the garage
