The afternoon rush hour had just begun, and drivers already were circling like sharks on Westlake’s quiet side streets, hunting for parking.
One man in a red sedan pulled into a driveway on Miramar Street and made a hard left, bumping over the driveway apron and stopping on a bedraggled patch of grass between the curb and the sidewalk.
As a gardening crew stared from across the street, the driver stepped out of his car, locked the doors and walked away.
“Wait, can he do that?” said Juan Carlos Hernandez, 24, shaking his head. “We can do that?”
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