Unnamed Journal Volume 2 Issue 6 - Page 16

“Yeah,” chimed in another volunteer, “she’s right. Meanwhile, we can see about moving the registration pavilion back to make room for the rest of the cars to get through.” “I hear what you’re saying, but what am I gonna do about my bus, man?” “Okay,” said the volunteer with a walkie-talkie, whom had taken point in the situation, “so you don’t have a spare, a patch, fix-a-flat, or like, an air compressor, right?” “Uh, no, I don’t have any of that stuff.” “So, you might be able to find some of that by asking around inside, but you’re looking at leaving the bus here and getting towed out after the burn, or getting it towed out now and finding a way to get back here.” “Goddammit!” “Hey dude, this sucks. I know. But like I said, unless you can find people that have stuff to fix that tire, those are your options.” “Fuck,” the bus driver said, in a drawn out sigh. “Hey folks,” Ulysses said, “I don’t know if this’ll help or not, but I do have a spare can of fix-a-flat in my car.” The bus driver and the volunteers looked at U ̸͕+qQӊeݔȁɕͽȁѼݥѠгtͅѡٽչѕȸq%ѡ)ݕɔɵȁѥɔݗeѕȁൄи ЁѡЁݽЁЁЁȁѡ)ѡt+q!ٔԁͭɽչ剽䁡́ȁɕͽȁݥѠѡtÚ͕)ЁѡɅم́ѡqMѡ͔Ս́ɔɕ䁉ͼ́ѡЁ̰)ѡЁٔt+q]tͅѡٽչѕȰqԁͬѡԁ݅ЁѼȁɥЁܰ'eٔ)фх䁡ɔѼٔѡ́ɽչͼݔЁ'eɔ5ɬɔ)ݽձɕєѡԁлt+qMɔÚ͕ͅ'eͬɽչ͕剽éЁѡ)ɕͽȁȁյȁͽѡt!ݸѡ́ѡЁɕэɔ)ѡєͥхѕ݅ѡɕѥѡɕхȸ(((