“This is the year, Freddie,” I said as we lifted the barriers on the truck. It’s been years now that Freddie and I have done this routine. We block off the parking lot, forcing people to pay the three-dollar parking toll. I’m something of an overachiever, though. I was, anyway. This was years ago when I could run after cars. The drivers were always surprised to see me outside their doors, panting, “It’s two-dollars for parking (this was obviously back in the day before the [redacted] returned to the stadium).” Now, at thirty, I’m beginning to see my limits. “I’m either going to get hit by a car, or I’m going to get fired.” Funny thing is, I imagined going out in a blaze…