I hear the whir of the rope even as I turn into the parking spot, the tick tick of my own signal still going. I sit and watch in the rear-view mirror and then the side as he jumps over and over and over, the rope twitching under him, his dark skin shiny with sweat. I've watched him for years. He has gray at his temples. Later, he checks me out, pulling my fruit across the scale, ringing me up.