XXVII: Moving

They descended on the house and began boxing things yesterday.

I managed not to end up in a box. Instead, I was taken out to the car . . .

Not that much more comfortable than a box, really. Although maybe for her.

Not even our car, the one she named after me, because that one had been taken away already. So this one is just some hire.

There goes my namesake. And the one the kids call "Moriarty."
Those children are evil, more so even than most.

More comfortable now, thank you.

Fine then. With everything packed away, we spent the night in a hotel. It has, of all things, a basketball court . . .

You want me to throw it where, exactly?

. . . And at least one or two almost interesting guests. After all, I do need to pass the time.

I know what you're thinking, John,
and the answer is no.

We fly tomorrow.

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