"Hotrod's in town," Chuck tells me. "He's over at W's house. They're working on their sitcom."
"Hey. Pista!" A b-stocking capped stranger is yelling to me from his car at an intersection.
I walk closer and see its Cork1.
He reaches into his back seat, and hands me a jar of a chunky yellow fluid. He's just traveled in from out of town, so I naturally assume this is diarrhea in a jar, and I scream. Then I realize it is like a salsa or something. and according to the label, it tastes good on eggs. By then he had driven away.