search your feelings, you know it to be true.

i got a new laundry hamper. now i roll up on my bike, two hampers, a back pack full of stoges, new flask in the pocket. medium pimpin, baby.

another guy tried to talk me into selling drugs in the b-room.

"whatuya make in here? twenty bucks? that's shit. imagine if you had some yay"

"sir, i don't know nothing about that."

"aw c'mon, you give stoges for tips, what about a lil bud?"

"nah, i'm alright."

his buddy walks up, and backs him up.

"yeah baby, you should move some o dat powdah. i did last night." he proceeds to put his hand out as if on the back of some bent over hottie, "and made," *humps his arm pallus* "six hundred dolllaaasss"

this tall man walks in. "alo," he says in a strong french accent.

as i hand him a towel, he begins, "there is nothing like this in france. i don't know it is very interesting."

"yeah, a lot of my friends told me this job seemed like it was out of some 80's miami vice or something."

"yes,"he says--seeming to me, a little confused--"the clubs in france it just would not work. do you have gum?"

"yeah, sure."

i hand him a piece, and he gives me five dollars.

"wow, thank you sir, how much do you want back?"

"no, no, no, no. this, for you"

"thanks a lot, lemmie know if you need anything else."

as he opens the door to leave he turns around and says "may zeh force be wizzu"

i respond with a live long and prosper.

"exactly," he says smiling.

later, when encountering another frenchmen, i ask if they are there together. he says yes and informs me via sick videos on his iphone they are on a team of skydivers who are touring the US for competitions. you can visit their website, Reflex Parachutisme.

remember, if you tip, i'll plug ya ;)