It is a cold, moonlit Saturday night in Minneapolis. Legions of crows stream into Loring Park and gather in the treetops. On the ground, carloads of revelers mimic the process, circling the congested neighborhood for places to park. Many will opt for the self-service lot just off Hennepin Avenue. At its entrance stands the hallmark of the industry: a tiny wooden hut. This one is a triumph of function over form, rough-hewn and perhaps 20 feet square. Inside, Tony Hornes is perched on a battered office chair, looking every inch a Minnesotan in his parka and snow boots. But his voice tells another story: raspy and gruff, it still bears the stamp of his native Louisiana. An electric space heater wheezes heroically. Jazz music and cigarette smoke swirl about, as if... More >>>