My wife drove Mickey’s 442, since she wouldn’t let me drive, as we made our way to Highway 280, then 80 across the Bay Bridge, onto 580 to head back south to where the hospital was set back on Mountain Boulevard some distance from the MacArthur Freeway.

“Why do all the freeways from home to here end in eighty?” I asked, inanely from the passenger seat, Julie sitting in my lap.