You talking to me?

The pale grey, pink sky was fading in the rearview mirror as I drove along the canyon road that leads home after a joyful time at the coast. Bob Marleyʼs “Waiting In Vain” came on and immediately Iʼm reminded of a special memory with my Dad, who passed a couple years ago.

I finally got the call.  A friend of mine, who runs several legitimate businesses, but tends to spend his off time in the shadows had told me about a private, big baller home game held weekly in the penthouse suite of a Los Angeles area, deluxe, high-rise apartment. 

In a strange turn of events, parents around the globe are devising any excuse to avoid hanging out (or even be seen) with their Fortnite flossing kids.