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We waited in what later became the parking garage. In those days it was no more than a dumping area for rubbish where the bins were kept and where deliveries-barrels of beer or occasionally merchandise of a more illicit nature-were made. A wall ran halfway along the back of the building, then disappeared in a tangle of elders and blackberry bushes. The back door was open-even in October it was stifling hot-and a bright yellow light fanned across the ground from the taproom. We sat on the wall, ready to drop down onto the other side if anyone came too near, and waited.

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