Cars had cut through these people's garage for years. It was built at a convenient crossroad in a ritzy neighborhood in Little Rock, and Rock had driven through it at least two or three times a year as long as he could remember.
The people who owned it understood its importance to local traffic patterns and had always left the two doors on each side of the garage open, but this day they didn't. The ones away from the street were closed and Rock had to stop near the house.
He got out of his car and a woman walked from the garage. She was about forty and dressed in a navy-blue business skirt with a matching blazer. "I'm sorry, but we had some work to do today," she said. "It's gonna be a few minutes before we can open the doors."
Cars had begun to back up behind Rock's.
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