We ate a post-run picnic in the car kennel while Mom and the Witch searched for a place to spend the night.
"Cheese, 60 bucks for a campground?" Mom read. "That's crazy."
"Is sixey a lot of bucks?" I asked.
"I'd say so. It's just a parking spot after all. We could stay in a scummy hotel for that much."
"Why would we want to stay in a scummy hotel when we have this nice car-hou—"
"Look!" Mom butted in. "This place is only $22."
"What's the difference between a twenny-two sort of place and a sixey sort of place?" I asked.
"It's one exit farther from town. People probably don't like staying that far from restaurants. Lazy bums."
"Are you sure? I thought that the whole point of a car-house was so you could get out of town."
"It's amazing how many people plan their road trips around not-driving," Mom said confidently.
If Mom was sure, I was sure.
It was dark by the time the Witch ordered us off the freeway. The car-house bored through the shadowy unknown toward the only patch of light in the night. When it reached the beams of the first street light, the car-house hesitated.
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