177a Bleecker Street New York Mga Nobela at Kwento

The vibration of the engine hummed through my skull. --- The parking garage on Bleecker Street was underground, poorly lit, and smelled of motor oil and damp concrete. It was the kind of place where people came when they didn't want to be seen — no cameras on the lower levels, no attendant after 8 PM, and two exits leading to different streets. I'd used it before, for meetings that couldn't happen in broad daylight. I arrived at 8:45 and parked on level B2, near the northwest stairwell. I killed the engine, left the headlights off, and sat in the dark. The only light came from the faint orange glow of the emergency exit sign at the far end.