foot.” “Why did you leave your car?” “I don’t know! It all happened so fast. Give me time to think of a better excuse.” “I’ll be right there. Go back to the car.” I don’t go back to the car, but I do tiptoe out from behind the building and stand at the side of the road. There are flashing lights—a police officer and a tow truck. Oh lord, I’m going to jail. Someone spots me and points, and my instinct is to crouch down. There’s nothing to hide behind, so I’m crouching for no reason whatsoever. Forget jail. I’m getting a padded cell.
