We could not figure it out. It was strange. I was working on a set, and supposed to be on the lookout for continuity. I never could find continuity. We all pretended some job somewhere needed us. Workers unite. I had one job where all I did was unload lights. Set up lights. Carry lights back to the truck. You slept lights. You fucked with the lights off except for Charleen who had a Denny’s Restaurant Gift Card That Just Kept Giving because Charleen could remaster that software like it was your floppy mommy’s tits. Smokes and coffee. What the fuck. This was Waffle House. We trolled them. We followed people in cars. We were with the FBI. We were the fucking FBI. We were the fucking FBI on drugs. We were the dawn of human history and psilocybin found in many toadstools. The more people who gave up toadstools was the more toadstools for me. I once did toadstools at the Plaza Hotel. All drugs are legal at the Plaza Hotel. We were the Waffle House Gang That Could Not Shoot Straight And Our Guns Were Bigger than their guns but my tire-slashing abilities were second to none. The Capitol of Waffle Houseland is definitely Vegas. Dirt Bike Town was Vegas Tough. Four tires is pop, pop, pop, pop. Vegas as a mysteriously repulsive substance acting against gravity and slot machines. Some of my best fucks were on Vegas balconies feeding off dark energy headlights on the Interstate to Los Angeles. There are 385,451,733 Waffle Houses just outside Needles alone. Bring on the dope. You are not allowed in outer space because no one went to outer space. Who wasn’t rich as shit. Let the countdown begin. Current understanding of what it takes to stretch space through the Big Heat of a thermodynamic equilibrium. Remains whatever was left over in Area 51. Never say Area 51 in public. Area 51 is yet another star’s Moon Motel and there is one vacancy left with Room Number 51 which for obvious reasons was unpopular except to the Vegas whores who had seen it all.