"Oh, come on!"
Sometimes, the trials and tribulations of Gotham are just as mundane as those in any other big city. Traffic jams. Garbage strikes. A truck full of barrels of God only knows what kind of industrial waste, overturned in Midtown, on 18th Street near East City Park. Sucks to be someone who drives to and from work, doesn't it? Hell
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Comments 70
Scowling, Cal shut off his engine and stepped outside to look around. "Hello?" he called out, obviously annoyed. "Anybody know what's going on up there?"
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Bruce Wayne: World's Greatest Detective.
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Cal walked slightly closer to the limo, all while keeping an eye on his car. "Can you actually see anything there?"
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It's... sort of remarkable, possibly, just how everything about this guy's expressions screams fake. Like an actor playing a role.
"I think the radio said something about a, a spill. We weren't really paying attention." Radio, lie. Spill, truth. Attention, lie.
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Come on, guys, no need to be so down. Let's make this a party!
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"In Brazil they've attempted to make it illegal for people stuck in traffic jams in the tunnels to play music. The cause of the traffic mess up would be gone and people would still be inside, singing and dancing." There, Mr. Wayne. Have a story from a random teenager on foot!
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The prince of Gotham grins quite cheerfully down at this strange young girl who's decided to regale him with a tale of traffic jams in foreign lands.
"Well, thank God this isn't Brazil."
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"You'd probably be fine," she comments, still walking and waving at him. You know, with all the bribes and whatnot. "Have fun!"
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Oh, Gotham. Livvie loves you so, except when she doesn't and would like to chuck the lot of you into the ocean.
So she's peeking into cars, grinning at kids and shrugging at irate adults and...oh hey, it's a Dan! Have a waving Livvie, Dan!
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He has no idea who this girl waving at him is.
But, hey, okay. He can smile and wave back.
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Poor Dan.
She stops and motions that he roll down the window. All the intermittent honking and yelling? There's no way she can be heard over all that and through a window.
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He does this, in fact. There's jazz playing on the Scion's stereo.
"Can I help you?"
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You try running to the natural foods store to pick up the good cat food (and maybe a few other, more clandestine errands) in your tricked-up black Jaguar (with purple upholstery!), and look what happens.
Well, at least she's got the stereo. And Mahalia Jackson. Still, at times like these, she wishes she smoked cigarettes.
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He caught sight of the Jaguar, and the driver, from a few lanes away, and... hey. It's an excuse to get out of the limo and stretch his legs, right? He tells Tasha and Lexi that he'll be right back, he just thinks he sees an old friend -- no, don't worry about it, stay here -- and grabs two cans of good ginger ale, and goes trekking across the backed-up road to Selina's car. Tap tap tap on her window, with a big, beaming grin.
Hi!
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