The valet wore a tan “Members Only” jacket, Black pants, and a large smile as he handed my husband the keys to his Jeep Cherokee, while my sons hopped into the back seat and I hurled myself into the front. We were feeling that ‘functional-family glow’: everyone was getting along and we had enjoyed a dinner with flowing conversation (these times had become rarer since both boys became teenagers). A Drake song was playing which provided further proof that this was indeed a special night: a musician whom everyone liked.
Heads boppin’, we pulled out of the restaurant’s parking lot to the stop sign that was fewer than 100 feet away, then pulled away. Suddenly the truck was lit with frightening blue and red strobe lights that almost seemed to match the rhythm of Drake’s song. But it wasn’t a party; it was the police…party over.
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