The parking lot has a sign with pictures of employees who’ve worked there for 10,20,and 30 years. I’m trying to imagine what that’s like, when one of them gets out of a Range Rover and winks at me. I nod toward the sign. “Which one are you?
He points to a photo at the top of the sign. “Thirty years, baby.”
“All that time,” I say.
“I like cars,” he shrugs. “And I get a no-show every other Friday.”
“A no-show. How do I get one those?”
“Stick around, baby. Stick around.”
I can’t quite parse the innuendo but it’s there in the low roll of his voice all the same.