Do you love me enough to let me go?

Why is it the clients with the really nice houses or offices never keep you for a conversation like they're a child clutching your leg as you drag them through the kitchen? It's always the sweaty, fat guy who is a walking bouquet of the cumulative stench created by 30 years of unfiltered cigarette smoke. That is the guy who can't keep his yap shut.

But I have to admit. That is a sweet ass '74 Nomad.