Marisol looked out the window at the gray morning. "My cousin has a van," she said slowly. "He starts at 8. We could pick him up. He works in Alameda. He's... quiet."
"Sorry, sorry, the 74 didn't come," she panted, yanking the rear door open and squeezing in beside Sofia. The car sank an extra inch. car pool richmond
"Buckle," Carl said.
The third seat was for Marisol, but she was late. Carl checked his phone. 6:54. They had a six-minute window before the 580 turned into a parking lot. He was about to call it when she came running—scuffed work boots, high-vis vest unzipped, a hard hat swinging from her belt loop. She worked the morning shift at the Port of Oakland, loading containers. Marisol looked out the window at the gray morning
They looked at each other. The math was strange and new. A cousin. A different car. A rearranged puzzle. We could pick him up
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