By John F.D. Taff
Read by Ian Stuart, voice actor for hire!
Monday morning came, and Jim wondered at the fact that no other cars followed or preceded him into the garage. And yet, as his car swirled down the ramps, he noticed that almost every parking space was filled.
He’d gone slowly down three levels looking for space “1103” before it became so dark he was forced to turn on the headlights. He barely made out a “321” in dirty yellow numbers on an empty space to his left, between a Thunderbird and a Stanza.
As he wound deeper into the building, his eyes became adjusted to the dim light. Still, he did not see a single person; no one pulling into a space, climbing out of a car, filing toward the bank of elevators.
Motes of dust sparkled in his headlights as his car swept through the aisles. The parked cars wore the dust like sequined dresses.
His car curled around the last corner, and he barely saw the numerals painted onto the dingy wall as his headlights raked across them.