 The Ugly Day -Alex Farr It was a Thursday. Usually a pretty good day, though there's nothing certain when you go out with a cab in the morning. It started out alright, with a couple of decent fares around East Oakland, and then a pick-up at the Marriott that turned out to be some conference goers that I'd picked up the morning before, and then again in the evening. I'd picked them up every time they needed a cab, and now we were all jovial and having a good time together... and so I passed out my cell number and arranged two airport runs with them for the afternoon. Now all I had to do was manipulate the business so that I could keep busy, and still manage to be around Pill Hill when they were ready to go. It can be a trick, but after six years in the business I'd gotten pretty good at it. I can pull it off well over half the time... Business dragged along, little fares mostly, nothing
to take me very far away, or do much to keep me awake. I didn't suspect
a thing when I got the call at the Kerry House, just another little old
lady drinking at the bar after shopping, to make the wait for a cab more
fun... or so I'd thought. Wrong. When I went in and asked who was looking for a cab, a little guy piped up "Yeah, just a second cabbie..." I just waved to him and went back out to the cab to wait for him to finish his drink. I may be an impatient bastard when people call from home, but making a man abandon his drink would be sacrilege to me. He was quick about it, came staggering out, and wanted me to let him sit up front. He was a little guy, so I figured 'what the hell...', and opened the door for him. "So, where to?" He squirmed in his seat a little anxiously, answering "Bolinas... Bo-town..." I just nodded. "Uhh, Bolinas? You mean, like, the city of Bolinas?" "Yeah, Bo-town. You know where it is?" he answered, seeming surprised. "Uhh, nope. Not the faintest idea. Somewhere... uhh... " I answered, drawing a blank. It'd rung a bell as a city, but it could've been North, East, South... "Just head to San Rafael. Marin. You know where that is? I'll show you..." he rambled. "Say, you mind if I smoke?" "Ok, Marin I can do. Yeah, you can smoke, no problem... but, I'm gonna need a deposit before we go..." I answered, trying desperately to guess how big of a deposit I should ask for. Despite the common notion that cabbies don't ask for deposits from white guys, if someone wants me to take them out of town, I need to see some cash up front. Especially drunks, who sometimes get the bright idea to go for a long ride, but've conveniently forgotten that they'd spent all their money on the drink. "Deposit? Ohh, so that's how it is? You don't trust me?? Ehh, I'm just kidding. No, no problem. You want a deposit?! Here, how's this?..." he drawled, fishing out a wallet and handing me a $100. "That good enough for you?, huh? Is that enough?..." I couldn't tell if he was bordering on getting hostile, or if he was just sort of antsy and half way off his mental tracks. I'm a long standing drunk myself, I've been both ways. The hundred was real though (I checked), and I had a little more than an hour and a half to kill before I was supposed to pick up the first convention lady to go to the airport. If I could just pull this off, and then that, and then the second lady... holy shit, it was dizzying. "Yeah, sure. That'll do..." I answered quickly enough, cutting into the slow, heavy, syrupy traffic of Piedmont Avenue. "Yeah, I thought so. That's for you. Whatever it comes to that's for you..." he rambled, as I made my way around to catch a freeway. "If it's not enough, that's ok too. I got plenty more where that came from. I'm rich. You don't believe me, do you? Well I am. I own a boat. Whadda you think of that?" I just nodded, "Cool..." "Cool? Cool he says? Shit... cool? You're damn right it's cool. It's a..." he went on, giving me some sort of dimensions and other stats that I didn't really pay attention to, or give a shit about. "Here, have another hundred. Will that make you feel better?" he was saying, as I finally wound through the back streets to catch the freeway. And he handed me another hundred, which I checked as soon as I'd merged onto the highway. It looked good too. "See, I'm rich. There's plenty more where that came from too..." he assured me, opening his wallet for me to look, fingering through his dozen or more other $100s, showing off, reassuring me... one of those hyperactive, spastic drunks, apparently. "Cool..." I answered. What else was I gonna say? 'Gee, that's swell mister...'? "Cool? Cool he says? Cool?... shit." he rambled some more. "That first one's for the fare. The second one, that's to buy your loyalty. That alright? Do I have your loyalty?..." I just shrugged, answering "Sure..." without meaning it a bit. "Sure he says... shit." And he simmered for a minute, throwing the cigarette he'd lit as soon as we started out the window. After a moment of reflection, he started up again "I tell you what, I'll give you another $100 for your fealty. You know what that is? Will you swear fealty to me for another $100?" I took a second to think about it. Of course I know what fealty is, although he must've figured it'd be fun to badger a cabbie with his apparently not-so-small vocabulary... the question was, if I said yes, was I gonna have to deal with all sorts of crap from the old fool the next time I ran into him? Was I willing to lie, and say 'sure', and then deal with whatever other horseshit he might come up with in the future? I decided against. "Naah, no fealty for me." "You know what it is?" "Yeah..." "Cause I don't know too many people who do. You gotta
be educated to know. You gotta read, and know stuff. Not too many people
know anything anymore. You sure you know what it means?..."
"Yeah, really? That's nice. I got an MA. In chemistry. I can make LSD, methamphetamine, angel dust... had some guys wanted me too, too. 'Walker', they says, coming by with this big ol' bag. You know what was in that bag?" "Well," I answered, since he'd paused in his soliloquy... partially to light a cigarette, and maybe partially to see if I could guess. "I could make a pretty fair..." "Shit, you got no idea... It was a shitload. They wanted me to make it, they'd buy it off me, and move it. Shit, I could've been rich. Me, a guy who was out on the streets... but you know what I said?" "Mmm, not really." I answered, figuring he was looking for a response, since he'd stopped talking to stare at me and take a huge drag on his new cigarette. "Shit, no you don't. I told them not a chance. You know why?" "Mmmm..." "Cause that shit always comes back. Everytime. And you know what, then I'd have my license taken away..." "Li...?" I tried to ask. "Yeah, I wouldn't be able to work, as a chemist. Then where would I be? I'd be out on the streets... no, I didn't wanna fuck with that." he rambled, huffing away on that cigarette like a geriatric jogger who'd just gotten back to his oxygen machine. "I know a lot of guys like that, too." "Uhh..." I mumbled, not sure whether he was talking about homeless, or distributing... "Guys I knew in Vietnam. I did two tours, saw a lot of guys. Fucked up too, some of them. You wouldn't understand... you don't know shit." I just shrugged, and nodded. He was too confused, undirected, and confusing for me to bother to take offense. He was right, I didn't understand. He was making no sense... Just then, he paused. He turned back from the window, out which he'd been staring, and fixed his gaze on me. I turned to look back at him, glancing occasionally back at the road. He was trying to look intense, or be intense, or maybe just trying to focus his eyes enough that he could see what I looked like. Maybe he was confused by what he saw, having a hard time getting a good read on a cabbie with purple hair and a goatee done up in Captain Jack Sparrow style double-braid. Maybe he was just trying to impress upon me what a perceptive and insightful, penetrating even, fellow he was. Or, maybe he was trying to decide how I'd react if he made a pass at me... "So, you were in Vietnam?..." I said, suddenly realizing that it probably explained a lot. "Shit, you don't know shit about it. You know, in '69, when I got back. I was in the Navy. I was a commando..." "Like a SEAL?..." I wondered aloud. "Shit, no... not a SEAL... I was a commando. A sniper. I can still do it too. I can hit a man at a range of over a mile... You don't believe me, do you?... you think I'm crazy..." Ignoring the last part, I answered "No, I believe you... my neighbor, he's got a .50 cal, with a sight..." ".50 cal, single shot though, right?" "Well, yeah, I think..." "Shit, that's no good. We used bolt actions... I could hit a man at over a mile. And do you know what they did? When I got back in '69. They gave us time, leave, every 8 months. I came back, and they spit on me! You believe it?..." "Well, yeah. It was '69..." "They called me a baby killer. I just wanted to find me a girl or two. A baby killer? Shit, you don't know..." "Well, you know..." "Shit, I know... you don't know, but I know. You're just like my girlfriend. Princess. You didn't meet the princess, that's what she is, a goddamned princess. She kicked me out of my own house. I have a house, right up on Kingston Ave. You know?" "Uhh, I know where Kingston is..." "That's why I gotta go to Bolinas. Bo-town. I gotta go back to my motel. Get my fishing rod." I just nodded, what was there to say to that? After a few seconds of quiet, while he fumbled with throwing another cigarette out the window, and fidgeted in his seat, I mentioned "You know, you're gonna have to direct me. I mean, I don't know how to find any motels..." "Shit, it's not any motel, it's the motel. Bo-town ain't got but one! Shit, you really don't know anything, do you?..." "Uhmm, not about Bolinas... no. So, by the way, once we get over the Richmond bridge, we wanna go South on 101?" I asked. I had run into the problem before, with a girl going to meet her boss at her house in... well, one of those picturesque shithole yuppie towns... Salinas, Sebastopol, Sausalito... one of those. I can never keep them straight, I think I mentally block them from my world. "Shit, don't you know?" "No, you said you'd show me. I told you..." "Shit, ok. I'll show you. No problem." "You're sure?" "Shit, what'd I just say? Say, you still got that meter on? Why's that meter on?" "Well, so I know how much..." "Shit, $200 ain't enough for you?..." "$200?... Well, I thought you'd..." "I'd what? No. That's for you. $200, now turn that damned meter off..." "Well... if I'm keeping the $200..." I muttered, and turned the meter off. What the hell?, $200 would get all the way to Sacramento... All the same, it felt odd. I tried not to think about it though, I just drove, and listened to him ramble on about Vietnam, Princess, Chemistry work in South Africa, Thailand, Texas. He'd done everything. He knew everything. I began to suspect that he wasn't just drunk, but maybe on speed too. "Shit," he said, somewhere just short of Novato, "This don't look right. I think you're going the wrong way..." "Me?, you said North on 101." "Shit, you don't know where you're going, do you?" "No, I've got no idea..." "That's fine, forget about it. Let's just go to Mill Valley. You know where Mill Valley is?" "Not really..." I answered, trying to think. I had a friend who got busted for possession of crack cocaine in Mill Valley, but I'd never thought to ask her for directions how to get there. No, I had no idea. "Shit, you really don't know nothing. It's the other way. Turn around..." By that time we'd gotten so far north that 101 had turned into more of a highway than a freeway, complete with turn lanes so you could make a left across the highway to get to the little pissant side roads out into the hills and the woods. So I pulled into a left turn lane. There wasn't any sign of a No U-turn sign. Now it was just a matter of finding my opening. Of course, aside from the excitement of making a U-turn on a highway with a speed limit of 65. Aside from the added pleasure of a spastic drunk urging me to go-go-go. I was looking forward to the maneuver especially much because of the rolling hills on the highway, keeping visibility limited to maybe 120 yards. Good times. I soon saw a bit of a break, making my U-turn as quick as possible, cutting off a Mercedes (hey, who let's the brakes go on a Mercedes?), and thanking the gods that I was driving a car whose previous police department wasn't as hard on their cars as some. Even with over 320,000 miles on the car, it still had some pick up. The horn on the Mercedes worked as well as the brakes. It was reassuring though, since I could tell by the horn's tone that it wasn't coming up on me too fast. Another hill or two, and I was leaving the Mercedes over the shifting horizon. For the next 20 or so miles Walker debated whether he wanted to go to Bo-town, Mill Valley, or maybe Stinson Beach. Occasionally he talked about his fishing pole, or his boat, or all his money. "It's a bitch, Alex..." he'd tell me, having gotten my name off my cab permit, "You don't know what it's like..." "No, I don't know shit about it. Sounds rough..." "You just think I'm crazy. You don't get it. No one gets it. When I was living on the streets, they were almost good times. Sometimes I sort of miss it..." "Yeah, I was on the streets, in Barcelona..." "It's like," he went on, not concerned too much whether or not I'd actually said anything, "... it's like, all those people I knew, now they just want one thing. They always just want something... The money, it takes you over... I gotta have lawyers now, and accountants... It's a curse." "Yeah... sure." "You want me to give it to you? Huh, then you'd see. What'd you do with 5 million, huh? What do you think you could do?" I gave it a second of thought. I mean, as long as he wasn't asking for fealty... "Well, for one thing I could let my girlfriend retire. Then she'd actually have enough time to work on her sculptures... pursue judged shows and approach galleries..." "Shit, you couldn't do nothing with it. The lawyers take care of it, and the accountants. It takes all your time. It's a curse..." He obviously wasn't loaded enough to actually give me the money, so I just started tuning him out for a while. Instead, I started fiddling with the radio, and watching the clock. My airport appointment was looking dicier and dicier. "Here, this is it!" Walker suddenly said, "Can I get a light?" "A light?, wait, what?... This exit?" "Yeah, what're you, deaf?" So I hit the brakes, slowing desperately as I pulled off, not sure what the road in the hills off the side of the highway might do. It lead into what looked like some sort of back road through the woods. "Ohh, shit, no... this ain't it." mumbled Walker, as he fumbled to light another cigarette. "Hey, pull over, let's give this guy a ride. "Uhh?..." I answered, looking around for a moment before the guy at the bus stop across the street registered. "Uhmm... sure..." I finally answered. I did have 200 of his dollars in my pocket after all... and who knew, maybe this guy knew the way to... wherever Walker had most recently decided he wanted to go. So I pulled what may've been a legal U-turn, and double parked in the street away from the bus zone curb (Walker hadn't given me a $250 extra deposit for that ticket). "Hey man, climb in! Where you wanna go?!" Walker called out to him. The guy was, understandably, a little confused. "How much?" he answered back, in what I immediately recognized as an African, probably Nigerian, accent. "Free, man. It's free! You look like you could use a lift!" The guy took a few moments to stare, and think it over. I couldn't blame him. "Free?..." "Yeah," answered Walker, "It's on me... it's free. You want a ride? Anywhere you wanna go..." After a few more moments to think it over, dude came on over and climbed into the back. "Hey, alright! So, where you wanna go?" Walker asked. "Marin Civic Center." "Uhh, you'll have to give me directions." I broke the news to him, "I don't know shit about Marin." I chose not to try to explain how affluent counties like Marin made me twitchy, how I would never consider going anywhere near them unless I was being paid. When he didn't answer me, I repeated my warning. Still nothing. "No problem man, I know where it is..." Walker assured us both. I repeated my request for directions again. Still nothing. Not a 'No problem', not a 'I don't know, I just ride the bus', nothing. So I just shrugged, and got back on the highway. Another mile or so down the road I spotted the Highway Patrol just in time to avoid being nabbed. That was the problem, I suddenly remembered, with the 101 south... it's the road back into the Bay Area from Humboldt county, where all the old hippies have retired to practice horticulture of the illicit persuasion. I'd been born up in Humboldt, and I'd been busted coming back from my grandfather's house out in the woods before, along that very same strip of highway. There's a cop every couple of miles, sitting on the side of the highway, just waiting. It's like the road north from Sinaloa, in Mexico. So now I was trying to sit on the speed limit, and trying to get coherent directions out of Walker, or a word out of our new African friend. It was a long couple of miles, Walker doing his best to get dude to chat amiably, failing miserably at it, before dude finally said "Here. Take d'is exit." "Ok..." I answered, all sense of reality gone from this ride by now. I just kept glancing down at my pocket, somehow worrying that this was a dream, that I'd hallucinated the two hundreds, that none of this could be real. I pulled over, and dude directed me to a bus stop on the side of the highway, where he quickly scrambled out of Walker's twisted little bus-substitute ride. "All right, you have a great day, man..." Walker called out to him, as I pulled back onto the highway. "Man, there was something just not right about that guy..." Walker confided to me, once we were back on the road. "I don't know, it just sort of reminds me of that time when I was playing around with making a batch of LSD. We didn't know shit though, and we were breathing in the fumes... man, I didn't come down for two months..." "Really, I would've thought you'd develop a toler..." "That guy was just strange. Well, he doesn't want a ride, then fuck him..." Walker went on. I just shrugged. The thought of finding a bus stop for myself was starting to cross my mind. After another couple of miles, Walker told me to take another exit. "Yeah, really. I'm sure this time... I grew up in Bo-town for Christ's sake, of course I'm sure!" So I shrugged again, and we got off, and wound our way along the road, woods on the left, highway on the right. "Whoah, man, I would've stopped to pick her up!" he suddenly said. "Huh?" I answered, thinking it over for a second before I realized he was talking about the pudgy, homely girl that'd been standing at a crosswalk... but whom I'd been in no mood to politely stop and let pass. Let alone invite to join us on a twisted little ride... "You must have a girlfriend..." he added then, derisively. "Yeah, I do..." I answered, taking some deep breaths, and then reaching for a cigarette of my own. There would've been a lot of cash in it for me if I'd've just killed him... and there were lots of woods to dump the body in... but it was such an affluent county there were bound to be busybodies about... and it would've been such a hassle... I'd miss both those airport runs... there would've just been something... inelegant about the whole thing. Right about then, somehow, my dispatch computer sent a message through to me. How the signal reached me, I couldn't begin to guess, but there it was. "Drivers, be careful around Highland Hospital, 2 patients have escaped, and are considered dangerous" Hmm... Highland was, well, about 2 miles from where I'd picked old Walker up. Hmm... mental patients. Hmm... Of course, escaped patients weren't likely to have a wallet with a wad of $100 bills. Dangerous patients... lots of nice neighborhoods between Highland and Piedmont avenue... hmmm. How long, I wondered, would it take for news of Highland patient escapes to get to dispatchers? How long would Highland spend trying to catch them quietly, before letting the news get out? How long would it take a psychotic to hike 2 miles? How long had this fucker been in my cab? Hmm. "Shit, can I have another light?" Walker asked. I gave it to him, and once he'd had a long drag, he looked up, saying "Shit, this ain't it... turn around..." Now I was beginning to lose it. Sure, he might be a dangerous psychopath, but enough's e-fucking-nough... "Look, I'm gonna get a map... you're never gonna find it like this." "That's what I was waiting for..." he answered me, like I was a child being taught a lesson. "I don't know where the hell I am..." "Then why did you tell me you could direct..." I growled, but bit off the rest, since profanity was just a breath away. There was a shitty little quaint country shopping mall up ahead... I could get a map, and get this annoying fucker dropped off, and be rid of him, and happy. I found a Walgreens, figured a drugstore would add maps along with all the other crap they stock, and pulled over. On the walk to the door, I double checked those two $100s. They were still there. They still looked real. The Walgreens clerk directed me to some atlases that gave me details about downtown Baltimore, and Atlanta, but there wasn't a single map of Marin county. God I hate that county. So I went back to the cab, and checked through my bag in the trunk, coming up with a map of the state of California. Bolinas was on it, but there didn't seem to be any label for the road that led out to it. Another closer view suggested Sir Francis Drake led out there, the road that runs by San Quentin, but the map was too beaten up to be sure. "Ok, the map says Sir Francis Drake..." "Stinson. Take me to Stinson. I know the way from there..." "Stinson, like the beach?" "How many other Stinsons are there?..." he snapped gruffly. "How the fuck should I know, I didn't grow up in this fucking county..." I snapped back. "Sorry. Yeah. Or, you know what, forget about it. Just take me to Mill Valley. You know where Mill Valley is?" "No, I do not know where Mill Valley is..." "Ok, just take me to Stinson then..." "Look, I'll take you to Sir Francis Drake... and then we'll figure it out." "Ok, ok. You're the boss... Say, you got another light?" By then my lighter was dead. I found him some matches, which he promptly showed off his skills with by tearing the cover off. "It makes it easier..." he explained, but I wasn't listening. So I got back to the fucking highway again, and I drove the speed limit, passing a cop every 2 to 3 miles, watching from the side of the road... and I finally found Sir Francis Drake. I double checked the map, found Bolinas Rd, looked good... on we pressed. A car full of little blonde chippies, in someone's daddy's BMW, waved and giggled, urging us to rock on. They were cute. I felt like slapping them. I felt like I was being taunted by the cherubim of hell. I've never really been a fan of cheerleaders. "Hey, you aren't really here! Think about it!" Walker shouted out at them. They looked shocked, confused, offended by his incoherentness. I liked them better already, I shared a shrug with them, and they waved some more... continuing on with their debutante adventure in whatever-the-hell city we were officially in. A couple of miles up the windy road, we found Bolinas Rd. It looked like a generic suburban street, but 'cute', in a rich neighborhood kind of way. It didn't look like it was the road out to the next town. "Hey man, I really gotta take a piss! And I need a drink. Pull over man, let's go to that liquor store there." Walker insisted. "Yeah... sure man, whatever." I answered, pulling in, shaking my head, wondering if maybe it was time to ask for another $100. So I waited, and I looked at my map, and I cursed the bastard that penned the fucking thing. After a minute or two, out comes Walker. "Shit man, that fucking arab... that mother fucker wouldn't let me use his pisser!..." "Yeah, well... I'm gonna need to get some gas soon." "Yeah, find a gas station. Then I can piss, and you can ask some directions." "Yeah, or buy a fucking map..." "Yeah, just get me to Mill Valley..." "Mill Valley? You're sure this time?" I asked, as I cut off an SUV to get into the turn lane to head back, once again, to that fucking highway. "That mother fucker... I can't believe he wouldn't let me use his pisser! 'What, you don't have one? You just piss behind the counter?' I told him... 'Ayanememananenmuhdn..' I told him. I speak Arabic. I learned it when I was working in Saudi Arabia. You know what that means, it means 'I piss in your mother's pussy'... He threatened to kick my ass! I wish he would've... I got my .38" he raved on, reaching back toward his right hip, behind his jacket. "Shit, no, not really..." he added when I didn't answer, "I don't really have any gun. But that cocksucker, he threatened to call the cops. Fucking asshole..." I just nodded. He sounded insane, but I had those 2 $100s. I'd checked on them again while he was inside. "So, where do you want me to get to?" "Mill Valley. I told you that." "Ok," I answered, feeling that edginess that comes with coming down off the acid, "Mill Valley. That's it. No more changing it. Mill Valley." "Are you getting tired of me? You think I'm crazy, don't you?" I took a deep breath, and answered simply "I'm just getting a little tired of having the destination changed all the time..." Of course, I liked Mill Valley the best of his destinations, since I knew it was a long windy road to Stinson, and I didn't even want to think about Bolinas anymore. Not unless he came up with another $100... though that might've put me in a good mood again. Up the road a piece I found a gas station. I put $5 bucks in, and while Walker pissed I called dispatch to have them send another cab for the airport ride coming up in 15 minutes which I was definitely Not going to make. The gas station guy assured me that Mill Valley was up the highway a few exits, and labeled Mill Valley. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I just had to hold on. Ride it out. Like a bad trip. And hope I could trust my eyes and fingers, that the 2 $100s were really real. They felt real. Walker'd been chainsmoking for too long for smelling them to be an option... So off we went. I got on the highway. I drove for a few more miles. "There it is, take this exit." Walker pointed. It didn't say Mill Valley. "No, that's not it. It doesn't say Mill Valley. It's supposed to say Mill Valley." I answered. "I'm telling you, I grew up here. This is it. Take. Take the exit! Ohh, you missed it!" rambled Walker. I might've waffled, I nearly fell for it... but I was saved by some affluent asshole in a bigass Cadillac SUV that they couldn't handle at speeds above fifty, which slowed down as I tried to slow down to make it over. By the time I got on the gas to get ahead of the dumb shit, the exit was gone. It hadn't said Mill Valley though, so I didn't take it too hard. "No, it wasn't the one. It didn't say Mill Valley..." "Ok, you're driving. Just get me there..." huffed Walker, fidgeting in his seat like a pouting 10 year old. And, sure enough, there it was! Mill Valley 1/2 mile!! I took the exit, made a left where Walker directed... and another half mile down the road, we found a shopping mall that suited him. "So, could I maybe get $20 back?" he asked, as he checked around the seat to be sure he wasn't forgetting anything. "Mmmm, no... I don't think so." I answered. "Ok, but the $200's good?" he asked. I looked at the clock. It'd been 2 hours. I'd neglected to look at the mileage, but I had to have done 50 - 80 miles with him. That would've put the meter at anything from $120 to $175. And then there was the hassle. The mind bending annoyance I'd put up with. "Well, unless you wanna give me another $100..." He smiled a little, but he didn't reach for his wallet. "Alex, cab 31... U60959... See, I remember everything" he answered, tapping the side of his head. I just nodded, and waved him a hearty 'get the fuck away from me'... laughing just a little that in his attempt to memorize my driver's license number (which is also on our cab licenses) he'd missed one of the digits. I practically screeched the tires backing out of the lot driveway, but I don't think I did too much damage to the transmission as I shifted it back to drive to get the hell out of there. It took easily 45 minutes to fight my way through all the traffic to get back across the bridge at what was now rush hour traffic out of San Francisco. I missed that other airport run too. By the time I was back in Oakland, I felt like I'd been pummeled with a sock full of quarters. Somehow though, when I counted my cash at the end of the day, it worked out to the best day I've ever had. I'd earned every cent. the New Waybills there's No Place Like Home... You gotta be shitting me Alex |