faced Pedro Martinez and Montana Jones decided he needed to watch the game in a bar. Montana hates the Red Sox - a minority position in Gloucester, Massachussetts.
He drank a full bottle of Grey Goose at his apartment and then he got into his Cadillac and drove down the road. There isn't anyone in town who doesn't know Montana's car. For one, it's pink - a long, low smooth pink ride, like a Mary Kay reward car. He likes driving a pink Caddy because it gets attention. Besides, no one's fool enough to make fun of Montana Jones.
He scraped the right side on some parked cars out on Middle and he overcorrected on Washington and scraped up the left on the other side of the street. I must be really drunk, he thought.
All the way up the highway he swerved from the right to the left. Cars honked their horns and moved out of the way and he made his way to the bar where he knew there was going to be trouble. He'd make sure of it.
He ripped into the parking lot still doing over forty. He took off a rearview mirror and ruined two paint jobs going in and then put the Caddy into a spot too small for it, scraping up one of those little pickups; a Ranger, he thought. He had to scoot over to the passenger side since he couldn't open his door far enough to squeeze out.