Today, I was driving around looking for a place to fix my car, since I need a distributor cap and spark plugs switched out before it rains tomorrow. Most people in my situation would buy a new car if it was pretty much totaled didn’t start in the rain, but DZ has been true to me, so I treat the car with the respect and dignity it had once deserved. I get to (big chain automotive store), and the service attendant there is a pretty friendly guy. We’re talking for a while and he insists that he’s got no one to put on the job and that I should bring it in tomorrow, but after I explain to him why that’s not an option, he nods his head in thought, grabs a business card and scrawls a phone number and “$30” on it.

“Call me at 7:00,” he says, “Now walk out the door and don’t say a word.”

I feel like I’m in a spy flick;

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to show up at this address at 7:00 where a man will approach you with a wrench and screwdriver and fix your distributor. He will ask you a question and you will respond by saying, “We bought an old house on the Danforth.” This business card will self-destruct in five seconds.

Maybe I should space out my next viewing of 24.