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Byline: Cory Farley
So here we are on "Deal STREET.'' Take a right between the corn-chip crumbs and the smoldering wastebasket-and we are doing a Deal.
I know it's Deal Street because that's what the sign over the door says. I know we're doing a deal because a guy in a brown suit, a three-day Brad Pitt beardlet and Prince Valiant hair has promised me something "really crazy.''
"Really crazy'' must be in the script, because he's the second person to offer it. The first one got pushed aside when it became apparent I was a potential customer, not just some geek passing time among the used cars.
To be fair, though, I did see craziness: When I focused on a vehicle, the first quote was 25 percent over high book.
"Thanks,'' I said, and stepped back. I wasn't bluffing. I'd cut across the lot on my way to lunch and happened to spot this car. If there was no reason to stop, I'd keep walking.
He leaned closer and glanced around: Oh, boy, we're going to put one over on the boss now.