Hola, amigos. What's your deal? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but there's been all sorts of mess going on in my life. For one thing, I've been having a hard time getting my government checks. Not that they're worth a whole lot, but I didn't work 57 jobs just to wait by the inbox for my Social Security download. In the meantime, I've got a little side job detailing vintage gas-engine cars out of the driveway of my apartment dome. I don't have a whole lot of customers, but it's all credits up front, so I don't need to report it to the IRS Compliance Force.
Oh, and the vertical-distance monitor in my hover-car is shot, so I need to get that replaced. I have to keep it under blocks or the damn thing floats away. I'd fix it, but I spent my money on another land car last week. Since the gas crisis, they're pretty easy to come by. This is my eighth one. I got like two Ford Mustang convertibles, but I can't afford to drive them much. The problem is that I don't have a place to keep them. I keep some in Ron's driveway, and the rest I keep in a vacant lot. In order to protect them from the toxic rains, I put big tarps over them. No roving mutants have tried to take them out of the lot yet. If they do, I guess I'll have to move them to the vacant lot across the street.� . . . . . . .