May 4, 2002
I think the parking lot owners next door to my building are in the mafia. Not sure which mafia though. All I know is that when I watch them from my kitchen window, through the circa 1912 warped leaded pane, that their dealings look sketchy four stories below. A man wearing black leather gloves on an 80 degree day opens the back door of a Jaguar and the parking lot guy climbs in. While he’s inside, the chauffer keeps watch. Parking lot guy emerges with something he quickly stuffs into his pocket. I’d call the cops, but voyeurism is entertaining.