Dint do it
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Si! si! Grrrringo, ariba!
This week I’m writing for both of us as Abi’s, er, in trouble with the Feds. We got picked up for listening to awful music from the 80s at max volume down in the projects. We tried to explain how loud music kinda goes with our image but the pigs were having none of it. I guess the crack pipe dangling limply from my lips didn’t help matters.
Then they popped the trunk. I tried in vain to explain the twenty pounds of cheap Mexican meth — and then they found the bound and gagged under-age señorita beneath the mountain of drugs. That kinda sealed the deal.
But why am I here to tell the tale, and Abi still incarcerated? Why am I free to write this while Abi is bruised black and blue and forced to pick up the soap?
Because I’m innocent. I didn’t do it. I shanked one of the cops soon after our mug shots were taken — and legged it.
Better keep running, I can hear some sirens.
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