We got to the Camry, and Angie got in, dropping her Banana Republic package in the passenger seat. I told her not to be too late, waved goodbye, and then, once I was sure I was out of sight of her rearview mirror, sprinted back to the Virtue. Trevor, with his car in position and the engine running, was going to have the jump on me if I didn’t get out of my spot quickly. I’d end up losing both of them.

When I’d left my car, there had been a small compact car on one side of me and a massive Ford Expedition on the other. The compact had left and been replaced by some other kind of SUV, some General Motors variety. It was as though I’d parked the Virtue at the bottom of a canyon. This was the thing about these vehicles: you couldn’t see around them at intersections, you couldn’t see around them in parking lots, you couldn’t—

There really wasn’t time to work up a satisfying rant about SUVs. I had to get moving. I got into the Virtue, threw the Gap bags down in front of the passenger seat, and got my key into the ignition. The engine, much to my relief, turned over right away this time. “Yes!” I said, put the car into reverse, and turned around to see my way out of the spot.

I was looking into walls of steel—massive doors and fenders—on both sides. The only view I had of the outside world was directly behind me, across the aisle to the tail ends of some cars on the other side.

So I began to creep out. Surely, if someone saw me backing out, they would stop and let me—

Someone laid on their horn. I slammed on the brake as a car shot past. Okay, maybe not everyone was as polite as I would have hoped. I began inching out again, just a little bit, just a little bit more.

Another horn. I hit the brake again, and this time a car roared by from the other direction, but at least this motorist had the time to roll down his window and respond to me: “Watch it, asshole!”

And I thought: I do not know who you are, but if I had the time, I would get out of my car, walk over, and beat you with a tire iron. Parking lot rage.

After he drove on, I kept on inching. But two more cars went by and their drivers didn’t even bother to honk. They just drove past, figuring that I, somehow, deep down in my corridor of steel, could see them.

“Fuck it,” I said, threw the car into park, got out, and walked out into the aisle. A vehicle was driving up, and I held up my hand to stop it.

The driver put down his window. “Yeah?” he said as I approached.