So, the husband is washing dishes (we have that kind of modern, non-gender-role-determined household) and suddenly says 'I'm going to go find out what that guy in the Impala is up to.' (When he's washing dishes, he can see out the window into the alley--I can't see as much, mostly sky--it's sad to be short.) I ask a few questions, and conclude
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Recently, Zachary's most often-requested story is about how our bikes got stolen off our 2nd floor porch and the unrelated SWAT-team raid on our downstairs neighbors that happened at about the same time. Yea LA!
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