Inside Pimlico Race Course, the onlookers stamped their feet, clapped their hands and watched as, too often, their horses finished behind the others. They crumpled their betting slips, tossed them in the trash and tried not to think about their losses.

Outside, the neighbors counted their cash.

It’s an annual tradition for Park Heights, where the Preakness Stakes briefly transforms some residents into hawkers, hustlers and pop-up entrepreneurs.

Daisy McDonald, 75, said her family has sold parking to Preakness attendees every year since she moved here five decades ago. Neighbors work together to coordinate the parking, she said, holding up cardboard signs and corralling them into their alley.

Normally, McDonald said, she could put four cars behind her house, but thanks to a full garage and a dead car, she had only one spot. She wanted $40, but she was willing to negotiate.

“If I can get $30, I’ll be fine,” McDonald said. “Enough to pay for my church dues tomorrow.”

Down the street, 60-year-old Clive Owens — “like the actor” — lifted the cover of his grill, covered with hamburgers, hot dogs and jerk chicken.

The longtime Park Heights resident was selling plates for $10 to $15. As of about 1 p.m., he’d sold about 10, Owens said; a slow day compared to previous years.

Owens chalked it up to a different traffic setup in his neighborhood, which he said was causing fewer people to stop there. But inside Pimlico attendance wasn’t much better.

The infield — traditionally filled with concertgoers — was empty, and the grandstands weren’t much better. Next year the race is moving to Laurel, and few people bothered to come say goodbye.

Preakness won’t return here until the decrepit racetrack is renovated; the state says it is confident that will be in 2027.

In the meantime, Owens will be busy. Currently, he splits his time remodeling homes and working at a nearby school. But soon, Owens said, he will open a Caribbean restaurant nearby.

“What can I do? It’s politics,” Owens said about Preakness leaving Pimlico. “When they come back, I’m ready.”

Despite the low attendance, Anastasia Green, 42, said she hadn’t noticed a drop-off in business. She sat under a tent near Pimlico overseeing a table covered in shirts, socks, hats and decorative wineglasses.

Her main product — a T-shirt that says “Straight Outta Preakness” — typically sells itself, Green said. She had about 30 of them selling for $20 apiece.

Green said she expected to sell out by the end of the day, and she plans to sell shirts at Laurel next year, too.

“I think it kinda sucks that they’re leaving,” Green said, but it’ll be “absolutely” worth it to renovate Pimlico. “Park Heights is a wonderful place to be.”

While Green reminisced about past years, a few men bound for the racetrack came up, looking for Twisted Teas.

“We got Jello shots, too,” Green said.

Her husband, Terry Royster, handled the sale, then headed back to the cooler to restock.

“See you when you get back,” Royster said, calling after the people walking by.

Royster held the cans aloft and hawked them to the next group. They would be some of the last sold outside a horse race in Park Heights, possibly for a long time.

“Get ‘em while they’re cold,” Royster said. “Get ‘em while supplies last.”