My car made a noise. I took it to a large repair chain. They gave me a printed estimate for two thousand dollars. It was itemized. It had a barcode. It looked extremely legitimate. I showed it to an American. He read it for four seconds and made a sound with his teeth. Then he said, "Don't do that." I asked what I should do instead. He said, "Go see Sal." Sal has no sign. Sal operates out of a building with no name on it, on a street with no other businesses, behind a chain link fence that is always open. There is no website. There is no phone number that anyone answers. You simply go there, and Sal is there, and Sal has always been there. Inside I said: THE MAN HAS NO BANNER AND NO GATE AND YET EVERY HOUSE IN THIS PROVINCE KNOWS THE ROAD. I drove to Sal's. There were nine cars in the lot. Nine. On a Tuesday. With no advertising of any kind. Sal listened to my engine for eleven seconds. He did not connect a computer. He did not look at my paperwork. He put his hand flat on the fender and listened, the way a physician listens to a chest. He said, "Sensor." I asked how much. "Hundred forty." I showed him the two thousand dollar estimate. He read it. He handed it back. He said, "They're not wrong." They're not wrong. He would not insult them. A man with no sign, being handed the paperwork of a national chain, declined to say a single bad word about it. He said, "They gotta replace the whole assembly. That's their rule. I just replace the sensor." Inside I said: HE DID NOT CALL THEM THIEVES. HE EXPLAINED THEIR CONSTRAINTS. HE DEFENDED THE MEN WHO WERE ABOUT TO TAKE MY MONEY. He fixed it in forty minutes. I asked how he learned this. He said, "My dad." I asked if his dad was still around. He pointed at a chair in the corner of the garage. An old man was sitting in it, doing nothing, watching. He had been there the entire time. I had not registered him as a person. I had registered him as furniture. Inside I said: THE MASTER SITS IN THE CORNER AND SAYS NOTHING AND THE SON IS ALREADY BETTER THAN HIM AND THIS IS THE ONLY THING HE HAS EVER WANTED. I asked the old man if the son was good. The old man said, "He's alright." Sal did not react. Sal has heard "he's alright" his entire life. Sal understands what it means. Sal will say it to his own son in thirty years and mean the same thing. I have sent four people to Sal. None of them were told the address. I described the fence. They all found it. They always find it.