when i was in junior college i pumped gas in beverly hills.

no one really asked why i quit my job selling computers and tvs and stereos in a store where i was always in the top five of fifty salespeople.

ok, some asked, and usually i told them that i had been confused with all the money that i was making and instead i just wanted to serve mankind. and pumping their gas sounded like a good start.

in truth i was serving mankind, i was staked out at the unocal seventy six as the youngest agent ever in the xbi, twenty years old, black, and owner of a seventy six cadillac sedan de ville..

i was placed at that particular location because it was an all-full serve station, and it was also ridiculously close to the century plaza hotel, known for its elegance, famous guests, and helicopter landing pad on its roof.

perfect for presidents.

the xbi had no interest in the president of the united states, but the bad guys did. and the bad guys had stolen property many times, and the xbi was interested in stealing their stolen property and giving some of it to the proper authorities.

i looked good in that uniform.

dark blue undershirt that looked like a surfers shirt with alternating blue and orange stripes ringing the neck, nice patch with my name on it.

light blue overshirt with pocket and patch with my name on it.

dark blue jacket with pocket and sleeve for tire gauge. patch with my name on it.

nice hat that said unocal.

dark black shoes with steel enforcement above the toes.

clean towels in the back for wiping the squeegies.

and an endless parade of the finest automobiles in all of california that would roll up and ask you to fill it up and check under the hood even though the car only has a few hundred miles on it.

as the sun shone

and as bad guys did circles around the avenue of the stars

unaware as to just how many eyes were upon them.

weeks before the president would arrive.

coyote + chicha + adrants + funny