It was a bad scene. There we were, three of us in a Winnebago parked in the Herman Miller parking lot just outside Zeeland Michigan. Zeeland cops are bad news. Salty, with sly grins and swaggers that mean "Get the fuck outta here sinner." These are not the sweet smelling aldermen we had envisioned finding, but smart, tough opponents.

thefez is sitting at the little fold down table stuffing quarters into tubesocks. Lawnjart is watching something on t.v. He's always been crazy for Reality Television. I'm standing in the little urinal, sweating like a Saturday night whore in the Sunday morning choir. Oatmeal, I cry out as the pressure finally releases.

Thefez is out of quarters and is thinking about how dimes would work in his sock flail.

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