“Next they’ll be running with scissors”

First thing this morning a guy goes whizzing by on a oil-smokey, loogy-hocking 2-stroker.

He’s got a jug of race-fuel resting on cargo-shorted seemingly inflammable thigh. A cigarette dangles from his mouth.

He looks like a misplaced Crip or Blood, straight outta Compton and mistakenly witness-protection-programmed to the wilds of wonderful West Virginia.

Tattoos are scrawled all over his un-shirted torso, black-hair ponytail & goatee like the bassist from Los Lobos.

Comment from peanut gallery:

“Next thing you know they’ll be running with scissors.“

Vehicle-borne IED.