Here back on Lagoon Drive Carl was all set to text for Uber, but this yellow cab has just appeared out of nowhere and we are all climbing into the back seat. Francois is in the middle, I am on the passenger side and Carl is directly behind the fiftiesh South Asian driver. We have become strangely quiet and the driver doesn't appear to be chatty. Which is just as well, since one more time we all suddenly have a lot to digest, and Carl surely must be resisting conniption fits about what's going to become of the mansion. And right now I am in a stew of resentment, knowing that my car is there and I will one day soon have to go all the way back to that house of horrors in order to retrieve it. I am also trying to visualize my father's house, all crammed to the rafters, with me, and Carl, and Francois, and Jason, and Lazarus, and Jesús, and George, and Jeffrey, and Erik, and someone is going to have to stay in the condo, at least until the house in new West is ready for occupancy...
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