A beat-up red Toyota passed me as I turned right out of the Smoothy King. It rattled straight for the dead end with resolute intention. A scrubby barrier loomed straight ahead. On the other side a magical place. It’s true. I’ve been there. For a minute I imagined the bespectacled boy determinably pushing his luggage cart straight toward the brick wall. Track 9 3/4. I glanced in the rear view mirror hoping for magic. If the shaky car had disappeared I’d have burst with joy. And hope.