That Hummer with the tinted windows has been parked across the street for 30 minutes now, and nobody’s gotten in or out yet. How suspicious is that? I better write down its license plate for my daily activity report… I can’t quite make them it from here. Looks like it might be HKB 3-0-0, no can do, ayy.
I’m assuming that everyone can appreciate the irony of a guy with a tip jar singing “Don’t you know it’s wrong/To take what is given you?”
Maybe I should get a tip jar, too. Then people can pay me for keeping their asses safe.
Based on my calculations, the average customer time at our ATM this morning is just over 90 seconds. But look at this teenager’s fingers fly! Keep it up, kid, and you’ll set today’s record.
Nice, you’re not getting distracted by passersby and you’re not checking your phone. Now you’ve got your cash and, bam, the receipt. Good job! You did it, you did it, you did it in a minute.
Wait a minute, if this busker is singing “Private Eyes” again, that means that he’s starting his repertoire again from the top.
And here I’ve been waiting all morning for “Family Man.”
Welcome to Hell & Oates, am I right?
Ooh, I’ve got to tell that one to Bernie.
Wow, this is reminding me of when Grandpa was driving me home after a fishing trip and “I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do)” came on. Grandpa looked at the radio and said “Blue-eyed soul?” in the same tone of voice you might say, “This cheese has gone bad.”
Then he changed the station.
That was the summer I was in love with Jennifer Tindal. God, I must’ve been nine.
After my third listen, I think I see a logical fallacy in “She’s Gone.” The line “I’d pay the Devil to replace her” could mean “she was important, and I will pay dearly for a replacement.” But if that’s true, how important was she, really?
Alternately, if the Devil WILL accept payment for the return of the exact same woman who is currently gone, he’d undoubtedly require a soul for compensation. That hardly seems worth it.
But even though that’s a price very few people would pay, I bet this bank’s financial advisors would take this job on. I can just hear them in the conference room, talking about whether the Devil would accept the soul on an amortized schedule, or—
Hang on, the armored truck’s here.
That woman who got out of the silver S-class Mercedes is really power walking my way. Looks like she has a question…
“Excuse me, ma’am? You’re looking for the crepe restaurant? It’s right across the street and half a block back. You’re welcome.”
Yeah, you’re a rich girl, and you’d gone too far—
Oh, touché, Mr. Busker. Touché.
Life is full of uncertainty and doubt, with shades of gray everywhere. But today, one thing has become crystal clear:
“Your kiss is on my list” is an unfortunate lyric. Like, what’s this list look like: “Milk, eggs, kiss?”
I can’t believe that this guy is standing in the ATM line with a cat on a leash. And that tabby’s clearly not thrilled with the arrangement. So I guess all bets are off now. I mean, what next: An iguana on a leash? An anteater?
“Ooh, here she comes
Watch out, ants, she’ll chew you up
Ooh, here she comes
She’s an anteater.”
I think my blood sugar’s getting low.
“Hey, Bernie, thanks for the break. Nope, it’s quiet today, but keep monitoring that Hummer across the street. Also, please enjoy this gentleman’s musical stylings. More like Hell & Oates, am I right?”
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”