The nation's oldest Death Row inmate probably won't ever be executed. But he sure loves to write letters.
South Florida's lawless exotic rental car industry keeps rolling.
In Texas, restitution for victims is nothing but a state-sanctioned sham.
If you thought Seattle couldn't fetishize coffee any more, you haven't been to a "cupping" yet.
"Jerry, what are you talking about?"
"Look, I don't know about all this political stuff, but what if you just tossed out the whole board and started all over again?"
"What? Sweet sugar magnolias, Jerry. Are you out of your mind?"
"Aww, man. I may be high, but I'm no dummy. Think about it. From what I can see, this dog-park thing could work to your advantage. What did you say when you started your campaign? That the most important element of good government is transparency, right? The parks board broke your number one rule, man."
"You're right. They did."
"It was the whole board that screwed the pooches. And because they didn't appreciate the sacredness of open government and the democratic process, you could wipe the slate clean and name a whole new set of people who do. That would solve a lot of your problems, man."
Funkhouser looked down at the roach now smoldering between Jerry's thumb and forefinger. He rubbed his head, pulled at his goatee. This whole thing was just so uncomfortable. Maybe he was hallucinating. He wished he'd been hallucinating these past four months.
"You know," Jerry said, "it'd be the sort of bold move that people might expect from you. And respect you for. Besides, man, there's something spiritual about just starting clean."
He put the roach to his lips and sucked in the last hit of bud. "I'm outta here," he said. "I gotta go find some ice cream."
And with that, the fat man evaporated in a rainbow-colored sparkle.
Funkhouser headed back to City Hall. If he got home before daylight, he just might get some sleep tonight.