Nov 17, 2005 15:08
Driving back from Portsmouth, Pawel futzes with the fancy electronic gadget he mugged off the previous night's yuppie prey as he tries to sort his speculations and impulses in the loud cancophony that threatens to overwhelm his consciousness. One voice in particular causes him to nearly run through a red light.
Dude, shooting your therapist in the face with a Barret is so a party foul.
Shut your mouth and get back in your hole, you damn dirty hippy!