almost

- Get in.  You stayed here too long.

- Wait, I gotta get the coins out of my pocket.

- Fuck your coins!  Let's go!  ...got them right where I want them, my ass.

- Well,I had to keep up with the chit-chat.  I smile at these people—they're going to know something's up.

- You haven't said one right thing to anyone all day.

- Well, that's debatable. 

- No, it's not.

- Maybe it's all in your head

- I'm not going to sit here and debate you on this.  I'm just not going to do it.

- go

- what?

- He's letting you in.  Make sure you wave.

- I know.

- Go... go

- Will you shut up?  You're making me nervous.

- And don't make that drunken humble face like he's the niceest guy you've ever met—it makes your face look like a slinky.

- (grunts or whimpers) Here we go.  Hey, get me a cigarette.  Don't exert yourself looking for the lighter.  Cops tend to notice shit like you're exasperated and your ass is on the ceiling.

- You nervous?  You're Frontrunner.

- Wait, what?

- Guy let you through, you went into his lane—now you're his Frontrunner.

- I shouldn't have gone into his lane?

- Well, if you weren't so nervous, that question would comfortably answer itself.  But I like Frontrunner! Guy lets me into his lane—if it's good enough for him, it's good enough for me.  Where is he, the bastard, I'll kiss him on the cheek right now.

- It's a bitch-blue Prius

- Ah,don't do the Stareback! Ah, jeez!  You gonna fuck him?  Fight him?  Threaten him?  Look at him,; he's a 42 year old Swede.  You're gonna scare his bitch-blue ass away from a friendly thought.

- Will you sit the fuck down.

- That one, and that one.  Those two mirrors are for soft eyes.

- I was looking with soft eyes!

- No, it's for the girls to look at our soft eyes when they let us be Frontrunner.  With a guy, you get a comradery for the road.  It's a mutual respect.  I mean would you ever walk into a guy's home and pass him in chaplass pants with two political stickers on each cheek?  Fagedabudid!

- What?

- Fuged...abd

- There's no "duh," stupid.  It's ______.  You know, ______.

- What, yea there is, ______

- Not the way you threw it on there.... shit.

-Shiiiiit!

Shiiiiiit!

- Anyway, I like to think of my Prerunners as of a discerning type, ancientt road warrior maps of the nomad—oh no!  It's coming.

- What?

- Ah!

-No?

-Roast Beef.

- Ah!

- Aghhh, around the room, we can prolly put together a pint.  Hey, I'm no hero.  I'm just a guy who doesn't have to drink anymore tonight.  Nothing's going to taste good to eat.

- It's a fuckin oblongata!  Life.

- Oh yea, guy, give it to him.

- You know, I've been listening to your half-cock and bull stories all day.   When do we get to the part about the freakin girls?

- Oh, yea, Skidmark (or lack thereof), the Woman of the Street.  Every Frontrunner's thing, you know, like the Eccliptical White Horse?  They say you'll never get her, and you never will.  She'll come to you if she respects how intuitively you use your turn signals.

Yea, well, it almost worked out between us.