Upon spotting the Bank of America building, I immediately found myself in a quandary. “Where in the hell is the parking garage?” I mumbled aloud under my breath. It seems that the parking garage was behind the building, hidden by the bank’s drive through teller facility. The only visible evidence of the clinic’s parking facility was a large sign with the name of the clinic, conveniently tucked away in the entrance ramp of the parking garage itself. I quickly turned into the garage narrowly avoiding the large van that was coming in the opposite direction. I was still trying to adjust to driving my inlaw’s behemoth sport utility vehicle. It had been almost three weeks since they borrowed our truck to take a refrigerator back to Fort Worth, Texas for my brother-in-law. I longed to drive my sporty little
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