We're at the light at Peacehaven, waiting to turn left on Robinhood, when the oldest spots it. The car in front of us, a sleek, gold Mercedes, sports a vanity tag with a word he's never seen: BLUFFS.
"Mom, what's bluffs?" he asks after a few seconds.
"You mean that license plate?"
"M-hm," he nods.
"It could mean a few things. Bluffs can be cliffs. Or they can be attempts to deceive."
"You mean lies," he clarifies.
The light changes, and we make our turn. The gold Mercedes in front of us has moved into the right lane. The driver is a well-dressed older man who keeps his eyes on the road as pass him.
"Cliffs or lies," the oldest murmurs, lost in thought.