But he really had to go!
There I was, sitting in a dilapidated Detroit Michigan jail cell. There was blood smeared on the dirty cinder-block walls. There was also a rather large hairy man with the name Tiny tattooed across his enormous forehead. He kept staring lasciviously eyeing me, so I kept as much distance as possible in the 20’ x 20’ cell we shared.
To make matters worse, my boss wasn’t happy with me. My wife wasn’t none too happy either. Neither were impressed by what they called a stunt. I considered asking Tiny for his opinion but then there is that wandering eye thing.  I’ll explain, so you tell me if I crossed a line.

Having finished dinner with friends at a little Italian restaurant about twenty-five miles from our home, my wife and I set off to return home. On the way, we stopped at a drive-up ice creamery for desert. We had driven by this place a million times before but had never stopped.