The car jumps forward a car length. It starts to reverse and stops. I hear the tires turn. Another small jump forward and the crunch of the driver slamming the gear into reverse. It quickly backs into the parking spot. A small adjustment and the driver cuts the motor.
I’m expecting him to come out of the car right away. A minute later, he steps out with a large paper bag, folded down to make it smaller, less distinctive.
He notices me smoking on the balcony. The bag changes hand and the walk becomes brisker. He’d rather nobody saw that tonight he is serving a fast-food dinner.