"Here," said Addison.  "You're driving."
  "Where are we going?" asked Harris.
  "I don't know!!?!?" said Trent. 
  "I'm bored."
  "Just go.  Come oowaun!!"
  "Fine.  This is your last lesson in learning how to drive schtick.  Watch Harris' left foot and right hand in sync.  Don't look at me.  See?"
  "I ain't gotta learn schtick.  I already got a automatic pick-up."
  "If you want to be a man, you gotta learn schtick.  Right?"
  "..."
  "RIGHT?!?"
  "I guess."
  "Where are we going again?" asked Trent. 
  "We're just driving around dude," said Harris, shifting gears.
  "Why don't we go over to the doller general for some energy drinks and then to MacDonersh?"
  "Fine," said Addison.  "Is any of this making sense to you at all?"
  "I don't know!!?"
  "You drunk?" asked Harris.
  "You're a moron.  Let's go get some weed."
  "If you got twenty bucks we can go get some."
  "Alright.  Let's put five in the tank and I'll get twenty from the machine at the gas station."
  Trent sat in the back seat flicking French fries at Addison up front on the passenger side.  Addison grabbed them from the dashboard and started to eat them slowly.  Mmmmm... Tastee!! (an' a little dirt won't hurt!)
  "Hey look Harris," pointed Trent.  "He's eating 'um."
  "Yeah."
  "What's the purpose of life?" slurred Addison.  "I'm really struggling hard to find any reason and any pupose in any of this."
  "You'z a alcoholic."
  "It's deeper than alcoholism.  Forget I asked.  Just oing out on a limb for once.  You guys ready for this week's adventure?"
  "Hey," said Trent, perking up, "we gon' sleep in the car tonight?"
  "Can't," said Addison.  "No room.  Hey gimme a cigarette."
  "I only got two left."
  "Hey Addison.  Let me get a dip," said Harris grabbing the tin of Grizzly from the center console.
  "I'm getting too low man.  Sorry.  Dial it back. The day is in diapers."
  "Just a small one?"
  "Far be it from..."
  "Thanks," said Harris helping himself.  He parked the car in the gas station parking lot.
  "You guys want some Lunchables?"
  "We should get some Gatorade gum.  It really works.  It'll get you jacked up.  Come ooahn... please?"
  "You're already full of sugar Harris.  You can't take your bag-pack in the store." 
  "Lemme drive us back too."
  "I don't know Harris.  How old are you again?  I know you ain't go no ID."
  "Come ooawn... Pleeeeeeeese," he whimpered.
  "Chill out dude.  I'll let you drive again later today," laughed Addison.  "I'm a man of my word.  Work first - play later."
  Later that afternoon at the grocery store, Addison threw a couple of cases of product in the car and hoisted Harris inside to keep the boxes from falling out.  Seventeen units sold for the day.  Could have been worse.  After work, the three grabbed subs and chips and cigarillos and Bud Lite Lime and made it back to the hotel; a race to the hot tub.
  "When you gon' git' a girlfriend Addison?  Oh wait... that's right... you already got one.  Heather."
  "She had a conniption last time you guys came over.  You can't talk to plastic females like that.  You almost got me evicted.  Quit doin' crap like that."
  "Yeah," laughed Trent.  "You beat me up with her last time and she deflated."
  "And her death is just something you're going to have to have weigh on your subconscious.  Every night Trent.  Yeah, your'e right.  She was totally taking her rage out on you.  'K?" 
  "Totally."
  Harris answered his cell.
  "Yes?"
  "What? Who's that?"
  "Yeeeesss!!"
  "Come uawhn... fu... MOVE!!!"
  Great Wolf Lodge was fun, but the abandoned quarry was even more so.  Money didn't revolve around expection.  Bumps and bruises never interrupted such positive and uplifting discourse amongst civil upkeep and various forms of admonishments in local circulation.  There was always time for coffee and a cronut at said stomping grounds. 
  "Look at this pamphlet!!"
  "Put that down Harris.  Straight garbage!!"
  "Shut up."
  "It's garbage.  Get rid of it.  And wipe your face."
  "Why 'yall eatin' that crap?"
  The old Lincoln Town Car was a little rusty, but mot much.  The whole machine reeked of wet dog and Windex.  Slim Jim wrappers and empty candy bags were strewn around the backseat along with tiny 4 oz. coffee cups of delicious menthol butts that no one had finished.  The engine light was still on, but she was a real tank on pavement.  Decent mileage for her size too.  The Mexicans were good people.  They all lined up and gave their blessings at the porch of gladness out on yonder pasture - good natured purveyors of instinct and dialect and solidarty.  Aristocratic yet gregarious, and excellent taste buds for super outlandish seafood.  Crableg cracker?  Exactly.