A Fox In The Crowd
Front Street is buzzing. Bobby was true to his word and has manned the hastily-shoplifted sewing machines with Deadheads of all kinds: boys and girls, tall and short, white and maybe a half-Asian chick? Rebecca over there? Talking to Austin? She is, like, half-Asian? I think? I do not know which Asian, but she is awesome.
It is the best here? Bobby is, like, he is just, I mean he is just. So. Bobby. Right? Like: you think he’s gonna be Bobby? And he’s like: Bobby.
We are making jean shorts today? Or, like, we were totally supposed to and I woke up this morning and was all, “Jean shorts,” and then we come in? And we start on them. We totally start on them. But then Billy and the toaster walk in–
They made up. They’re friends again. Beef: squashed. Squash that shit. Mad tight. So anyway: Billy? And the toaster? They had beer and coke and they ordered pizza? And they totally put acid on the pizza?
But I don’t give a FUCK; I’m fuckin’ HARDCORE and I eat it?
And soon everyone’s like “WOOOOoooooOOOOooooo” and shit is getting MAD FUCKED UP. Dudes are sewing their dicks together and there was, like, maybe time travel? It’s a fucking PARTY, yo, and Billy is porking and the toaster had sex with Mr. Garcia’s briefcase?
So we didn’t get SHIT done today.
Excuse me? What the fuck was all this?
Led by Bobby, the Dead ventured into the fashion world, which necessitated turning Front Street into a sweatshop.
I got all that.
This was one of the stories of one of the stone-cold teen foxes who worked there. Don’t silence her.
Not trying to do that. Just wondering if you realized you veered into her story in the middle of a sentence.
Muse does what she will.
You realize how pretentious you sound?
The girl’s name was Muse.