So we swung by the scene of the crime this evening when we strolled into the sleepy little town that will make or break 700 lives by the close of business Wednesday. Up, up, up the escalator. Nice airy ballroom. With a dance floor that has probably seen the "Chicken Dance" at one too many weddings.
D: Let's go down the elevator.
You know how you know in the pit of your stomach that something is a bad idea? But you just ignore it?
We walked into the elevator already occupied by two blondes.
B#1 to B#2: I already passed (insert embarrassingly easy/lame/communist adjoining state) bar so I'm just taking this for fun.
Colonoscopy fun? Root canal fun? Passing a 15-INCH-HEAD OUT OF YOUR VAGINA fun?
Derek slowly moved in between me and B#1. I guess he didn't think he had enough cash to get me out on bond before tomorrow morning.