Enoch slammed the hood of his stubborn Cutlass. Great. He'd been ignoring an ominous grinding noise for weeks, and now he'd have to walk home.

Within fifteen minutes he was in town, but it was a bright day, and the sweat was pouring off him. Judging by the number of kids on bikes and playing on the sidewalks, Enoch guessed it was about 3:30. He heaved a sigh of relief in spite of himself; though he was years out of high school, 3:30 still felt like freedom.