Once again “Boxcar” Johnson had violated the terms of his parole. He was often lonely. As the only lodger of the halfway house at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa he came and went pretty much as he pleased except when Security cameras caught him otherwise. Seen above, well after midnight, talking to the Face of Everyman. It didn’t matter that it was Chaos Theory or even String Theory; he was going down.
One has to wonder what terrible crimes these night marauders have committed that they compulsively wash their hands. the Face of Everyman had to ask. It turns out that Figs are in season at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. Overripe Figs with juicy goodness are messy Figs. The venerable sage opined that he liked his stuffed with Blue Cheese in hopes that a few might appear on his door step.
Once again, under the cover of darkness, a cadre of highly trained marauders struck at the very heart of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. By diverting recirculation water meant for the Spring of Eternal Giving the vast lagoon was emptied before sunrise. the Face of Everyman awoke only when he felt a cold draft on his bottom.
During the brief interlude when the Raccoons weren’t skylarking or terrorizing the Face of Everyman the neighborhood cat; Indiana Jones, took center stage and reclaimed his territorial rights to the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. Indie was a veteran of avoiding direct conflict but he knew that there would be a new crop of scrappy bandits born every couple of years. Maybe the venerable sage would sell him a some extra lives on credit.