All of my actual living happens in a parked car

When something real is happening, you pull over into the one place in the day with no role attached to it, let it happen there, and then get out and resume.

It is not only the driveway. It is outside the pottery studio, the Ingles car park, Haywood by the bank with the engine running, outside the practice after you said no to Dale. In the house you are a partner, in the office a clinician, at the studio a beginner, on the phone to Greenfield the daughter who is fine. In the car you are nothing at all and nobody is waiting for a response. You listed five occasions from one journal and had not seen it until they were next to each other.