Brake lights fade away, blinking into the distance; the black asphalt blends with the dark night sky at the crest of the hill. Walking down the tree-lined street, the shadows of this suburban life creep from the bushes; a maintained and edged lawn, a tire swing. A cat hops up to the front stoop and immediately whips around to groom itself under the harsh porch light. It’s Trash Day in the morning and the big, awkward bins are carefully placed. Close, but not too close, so the Beamers don’t get scratched on their way from driveway to window office.