Cudney got behind the wheel. Slammed the door. He cleared his throat and hucked a thick one
into Tyson's passenger wheel well. Then
he tilted up on his right butt cheek and delivered a deep dark fog buster into
the interior. Giggling at how close he'd
trimmed the line between farting and shitting his pants, he accelerated through
the turn and dove down the Tower throat, into the parking garage.
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