It’s 4:05 a.m. The windows rattle, the rumbling grows louder. I shake my wife awake. “Joyce, get up, we’re having an earthquake.” But no—it’s just another 18-wheeler barreling past our house. Like a wave, its noise ripples down Palos Verdes Boulevard until it reaches Pacific Coast Highway, serving as an unwelcome alarm clock for the entire neighborhood. At 6:25 p.m., my wife and I try to enjoy a…
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