A klaxon blared in the sun-dappled parking lot of a suburban library one recent morning.

A tiny, frail old woman was pulling very carefully into a handicapped parking space. She was not moving fast enough to satisfy the beefy man in the car behind her who evidently wanted to get a parking space of his own. So as she inched her car cautiously forward, the man leaned on his horn. His face was distorted by rage at being kept waiting, oh, perhaps 15 seconds.

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