The secretary brought me in a pound of fresh-caught home-smoked king salmon candy. Apparently all they do to catch them is position their zodiac in the middle of a river and dip nets overboard. It took longer to fillet their quota of thirty something fish per person than it did to catch them.
This man and his wife snored real loud from Boston to Seattle. Somewhere above Lake Erie I began eating the Junior Mints he cached in the seat pocket in front of him even though I hate them worse than just about anything.
Anchorage is full of empty parking lots, but parking meters still run a quarter for twelve minutes like the fucking department of public works thought they were in San Francisco for a minute or something when setting the rates.