It's 1:30 a.m. late Friday night, and I'm lying on a sheet of cardboard in the back of a minivan, headed God knows where, amid sliding packages of toys, many of them mine that I've hauled around all day in addition to the laptop slowly eating its way through my shoulder till it will eventually cleave arm from shoulder. When offered a ride home, it never occurred to ask if there might actually be seats inside the vehicle of transit.
30 minutes earlier: I ask the driver if he knows where I'm stay
