He fastens a chain end under the Oldsmobile’s bumper and a motor drags it up onto the platform. It stands up there like an advertisement for Los Angeles gangsterdom, bright white against the blue sky. The man does not give it a second look, though.

From inside the cab you can see the roofs of the cars we pass, and as we turn onto the main street you can see right into the laps of drivers and all the items on their seats, and into the dirty beds of rust-crusted pickup trucks. Nobody can hide. The cab smells strongly of pine, which comes from a little plastic tree that dangles from the rearview mirror. After hesitating for a long time I roll down the window and let in warm fresh air that blows against my forehead, dries my eyes, and makes me squint. The tow truck man drives and looks forward, whistling occasionally. A few times he glances my way. Maybe I should not have opened the window. Wind rattles a piece of paper stuck like a bee above the dashboard and I think about closing it but do not.

I feel the man thinking about me. Finally he turns my way.

Sorry about that, he says. You looked too young to be driving a big old Olds like that one. I expected some sort of a grandpa.

My grandpa gave it to me, I lie to him.

He nods to himself.

In Culver City or Venice no grandpa with any brains would leave his ten-year-old gas-guzzling Olds parked on the street. Apart from a Land Cruiser, it’s what everyone wants to steal. It is obvious that though he deals with cars, this man does not know anything about LA gangs and their car habits. I let my shoulders slack a little.

That’s a nice grandpa, he says.

Yeah, I know.

We drive without a word along the main street, then begin the upward slant towards the foothills, passing beneath a traffic light that arches over the street like a gateway. Again I sense the man glancing my way, and automatically I shrug as if the feeling I get from it were a bird on my shoulder.

Finally he says: Why didn’t you say anything back there? It must’ve been obvious I was looking for the owner of your car.

I don’t know.

He regards me curiously, then smiles and laughs. All right then. That makes two of us. You thirsty? Why don’t you reach back behind your seat and pull out the cooler. Have yourself what you want.

Thanks.