skoo.net

"Cigarettes." I stated. "I'll need cigarettes."

It was at this moment that I was told that in order to buy cigarettes, I would require I.D.

Hold up. Let me get this straight... I need photographic I.D. just to buy cigarettes? What a crazy country. They force you to drive when you are about 12, but you have to be 40 just to buy booze and apparently you can only smoke if you are a pensioner.

No wonder customs tried to get my rolling tobacco at the airport, the poor bastards were just after a smoke.

I drifted back into my timeworn state only to be shaken loose by Sassy.

"Do you have any cash?" She asked, some urgency in her voice.

"Cash?" I thought, moments before I said "Cash?" and opened my eyes.

We were sat in some sort of queue. Many cars were all around us, and I'm pretty sure I heard a hellicopter. Actually, I said cars, but I meant huge-ass vans, trucks and people carriers. The average American doesn't even know what a car looks like. I started to doubt our disguise, as the vehicle Sassy had chosen was indeed a car. Bum fuzz.

My senses were streaming now, trying to decode the situation. Why was there suddednly 20 lanes of traffic, with each lane forming a queue? It seemed like there were many Taxis all in the farthest left lane, although I don't think this helped any in my deduction. Was this some sort of roadblock?

"Customs must really want my tobacco." I muttered to myself.

I glanced ahead to see an arm protruding from one of the vehicles in our lane.
"Is he trying to escape?" I thought. Soon I was to learn what this crazy situation was all about. Our lane slowly moved forward and my eyes were able to focus on the series of mystic hieroglyphs positioned above us.

"Toll Booth?" I said. "What the hell is a Toll Booth?"

Sassy got me up to speed rather quickly as I nervously handed her three fresh dollar bill notes, while trying to avoid eye contact with the little savage people that lived in the booths. Spies, no doubt.

Apparently they have toll booths because they dont pay tax, or something like that. With this newfound knowledge, you'd be forgiven for thinking they must have excellent road surfaces and transport systems in place. Not in the slightest. I believe the Americans keep their roads in a state of decay to further prolong the transport "system" and provide mechanics and tyre-fitters with jobs. Those rat bastards have them all fooled!

It was at this point I deployed Sassy to buy my cigarettes. I was comfortable in my seat, and although my American accent is more believable, we agreed that she was going to be the point-man for this mission. Not that she is a man, but "point-person" sounds fucking awful.

[to be etc...]