Last Call

Policeman with hawk's eyes perched on street corner examining moonlit drunks. Three amigos arm in arm in arm discuss the weather with breath by Cuervo. The term piggy-back makes pigs of the frat as their slurring women's heads lull side to side to side with each step and step and step.

'87 Challenger

Shouting matches never end in laughter, they erupt with guffaw grenades, they find their zen in the patient puzzling of trash-talking oases. A beacon of furious eyebrow and Axe-brand scent, impeccably sloppy, put together like a green gem, his computer'll burn what his defamations haven't. Built, surely, of zirconium, his up-to-date silver-fox style leaves you wondering what purpose a man like this serves until his hands are in the air and his sighs of pleasure have you rethinking your own life.