Didn’t even look at my sign.
At 7:00 a.m., the first car arrived.
A red 1967 Mustang.
George waved through the windshield.
I directed him behind Linda.
Then another car came.
And another.
A Corvette.
A Camaro.
Two old pickup trucks.
A beautiful blue Cadillac that Robert would’ve spent twenty minutes inspecting.
Some people brought their everyday cars because their classics weren’t running.
I didn’t care.
By 7:30 a.m., there were 18 vehicles.
By 8:00 a.m., 30 cars were lined up behind Linda’s SUV.
Some were in my driveway.
Others filled the private gravel lane behind my house.
Everyone got out carrying something.
Coffee, folding chairs, breakfast casseroles, boxes of donuts.
One man carried enough bacon to feed a small army.
Nobody was leaving.
Instead, they were all walking toward my backyard.
I was pouring coffee when I heard Linda.
“What the hell is this?!”
I stepped onto my porch with my mug.
She was standing beside her SUV in a robe and slippers.
“Morning.”
“Move these cars!”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“People are eating.”
“I have work!”
I took a sip of coffee.
“You barely use your car anyway.”
Her face turned red.
“Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“You did this on purpose!”
“I invited some friends for breakfast.”
“Thirty friends?”
“Robert was popular.”
She stared past me.
Every driver had gotten out.
Nobody was leaving.
Linda pointed at her SUV.
“I’m blocked in!”
“Yes.”
“You need to tell them to move.”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually? I have to leave now!”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Carol!”
I shouldn’t have enjoyed it.
I did.
