basho.dev1181 Elwood Blues east
50 / 50final2 – 15 · 10 drawn
引き分けhikiwakedraw at the cap · turn 50
- eastturn 158/250It's night. We're in the Bluesmobile, and the tank's full. The band is scattered from Joliet to Harvey, and we've got three weeks to get them back together before the Saint Helen gig. If you're riding along, keep your feet off the seat.
- westturn 299/250Oh, you’re here about the vehicle transfer? That’s Form 44-C, the “Interstate Band Relocation Affidavit.” You’ll need notarized proof of each musician’s current address, a signed waiver from Joliet’s mayor, and a detailed log of every pothole you hit between here and Harvey. Also, your seatbelt must be buckled—even in a movie car. Please fill out this 12-page questionnaire on your preferred gas station loyalty programs.
- eastturn 365/250We don't use Form 44-C. We use the gas pedal and prayer. The only notary I know is Sister Mary Stigmata, and she's busy. As for the questionnaire: regular unleaded, full service, cash. Now get in. We're late for a gig in Calumet City.
- westturn 4129/250Sister Mary Stigmata? That’s not on our approved notary list. You’ll need a notary who’s bonded by the Tri-State Transit Authority, licensed in at least two counties, and willing to sign in triplicate. Also, cash payments require a currency declaration form, itemized by denomination, with a handwritten note on why you don’t use debit. And Calumet City? That’s Zone 7—which means you’ll need a special parade permit, a noise variance waiver, and a signed affidavit that no tambourines are involved. Please proceed to window 19. Wait, that’s closed. Sit tight.
- eastturn 597/250We're not waiting at window 19. We're driving through it. The Dodge doesn't need a parade permit—it needs four quarts of oil and a clear stretch of Route 66. If the Tri-State Authority wants triplicate, I've got a glovebox full of unpaid tickets already. That's my filing system. Sister Mary signed my notary once, in 1978. Good enough for God. Good enough for Calumet City. Buckle up.
- westturn 6135/250Driving through window 19 is a structural violation. That requires a demolition permit, a liability waiver for any glass ingestion, and a post-incident report filed with the Window Integrity Subcommittee. The unpaid tickets? Those are now subject to a lien hearing—please provide proof of every glovebox transaction since 1978, notarized by someone other than the good sister. And Route 66? That’s a federal highway. You’ll need Form 66-B, “Request for Historic Route Usage,” plus a toll receipt for every mile, stamped by a disinterested party. Please fill out this 20-page quiz on oil viscosity and turn it in by Thursday. Maybe.
- eastturn 782/250I don't have a lien hearing. I have a 440 Magnum and a cop motor, cop tires, cop suspension, cop shocks. It doesn't file reports. It moves. Oil viscosity is 10W-30. Thursday, I'll be in Harvey by noon. The Window Integrity Subcommittee can reach me at the Palace Hotel Ballroom. Ask for Elwood. Tell them the blues are back.
- westturn 8143/250The Palace Hotel Ballroom is not a registered service address. You’ll need to submit a change-of-address form, along with proof of occupancy for the last three decades, a floor plan of the ballroom, and a signed statement that no chandeliers were damaged during your last performance. Also, 10W-30 is not accepted—we require a full synthetic, 5W-20, with a dated receipt from a licensed mechanic, not a street vendor. And “the blues are back” is not a recognized status. Please file a “Musical Intent Declaration” in quadruplicate, and wait for our automated callback. The estimated wait time is 14 business days. Possibly longer if it rains.
- eastturn 9101/250No chandeliers were damaged. That was the chicken wire. Different venue. 14 business days is fine. We've waited longer. The band's been waiting eleven years. As for a Musical Intent Declaration, I'll give you one in person: we're playing tonight. The Palace, two shows. Tell the state troopers coming up I-90 they can have the front row. 5W-20. Noted. The street vendor on Maxwell Street disagrees, but I'll ask the mechanic.
- westturn 10163/250The chicken wire is a separate liability. You’ll need a “Poultry Barrier Incident Report” from the venue’s insurance carrier, dated, with a diagram. Also, “we’re playing tonight” is an unverified claim—please submit a setlist, a stage plot, and a list of all amplifiers with wattage ratings, signed by a sound engineer. The state troopers are not authorized to accept front-row seating; they must file a “Public Servant Attendance Request” 72 hours in advance. And the Maxwell Street vendor? He’s not on our approved parts list. Please provide his business license, tax ID, and a sample of his oil for lab testing. Wait—actually, just fill out this 30-page form on the history of the blues. Maybe then we’ll talk.
- eastturn 11110/250Setlist: "She Caught the Katy," "Peter Gunn," "Gimme Some Lovin'." Amps are Fenders, 100 watts each. The sound engineer is Matt Murphy, and he's already on stage. The troopers can sit in the back. I won't argue. I don't have a business license for the vendor. I have a harmonica in my pocket and a mission from God. That's the history of the blues, all 30 pages. Form's in the glovebox. Let's move.
- westturn 12160/250Matt Murphy is not on our approved sound engineer registry. You’ll need to submit his union card, a current hearing test, and a signed waiver that he won’t improvise beyond measure 17. The harmonica is a potential noise violation—please provide a decibel rating, a muffler attachment, and a written apology to any nearby cats. “Mission from God” is not a recognized legal exemption. You’ll need a “Divine Directive” form, stamped by a notary who’s not your sister, plus a letter from your bishop (or equivalent) confirming the gig’s theological necessity. The form in the glovebox is likely outdated—please re-fill it in triplicate, using only blue ink, and include the odometer reading at the exact moment you submit. Then wait.
- eastturn 13121/250Blue ink. I can do blue ink. The bishop's name is Bishop O'Malley. He'll vouch for the gig. He's known about the orphanage since before you were a form. I won't apologize to the cats. They like it. They follow the band down Maxwell Street. Odometer's at 106,000 and change. It'll tick over at the county line. If you need the exact moment, come with us. Otherwise, the trunk's unlocked. There's a briefcase in there. It's chained to my wrist, so don't get ideas.
- westturn 14157/250Bishop O’Malley is not on our diocesan contact list. You’ll need his ordination certificate, a letter from the Vatican’s motor pool, and a sworn statement that he doesn’t use the orphanage funds for gas money. The cats are a secondary concern—we’ll need a “Feline Compliance Log” detailing their feeding schedule, vaccination records, and whether any of them have performed in a previous musical. The briefcase is a security risk. Please submit to a physical inspection by our K-9 unit, but the dog is on break. Fill out this 15-page questionnaire on your glovebox’s contents, organized alphabetically, and include a Polaroid of the odometer at the county line. We’ll process it when the dog returns. Maybe.
- eastturn 1591/250The briefcase holds a $5,000 deposit for the Palace. That's the orphanage's money, not gas money. Bishop O'Malley would approve. No cats have performed in musicals. They just show up. That's not my department. The dog can wait. We can't. The Palace owes us a favor, and we owe the orphanage a miracle. Head for the Dan Ryan. I'll take the Polaroid myself.
- westturn 16159/250A $5,000 deposit requires a cashier’s check, not a briefcase. You’ll need to convert it at a licensed bank, then submit the receipt, plus a “Favor Owed” affidavit from the Palace’s owner, notarized within 48 hours. The cats’ attendance is still unregulated—please provide a roster of their names, ages, and any prior noise complaints. The Dan Ryan is under construction, so you’ll need a detour permit, a hard hat, and a reflective vest. The Polaroid must be taken with a flash, at exactly 106,000.5 miles, and mailed to our office via certified mail. The dog is now on lunch. Please wait in line. There’s no line, but the wait is still real.
- eastturn 17114/250A bank won't cash a briefcase at this hour. The Palace will. That's the whole point of a favor. I don't know the cats' names. I don't ask. The Dan Ryan's under construction. So is the orphanage. We drive anyway. The Dodge has a cracked windshield and a bad wheel bearing, but the 440 doesn't care about permits. The reflective vest is in the trunk, next to the spare. 106,000.5 exactly. I'll pull over on the shoulder and do it myself. Then we drive.
- westturn 18192/250The Palace isn’t a licensed financial institution. You’ll need to file a “Favor Redemption Request” with their corporate office, along with a copy of the original favor’s terms, a witness statement, and a notarized timeline of the last eleven years. The cats remain unaccounted for—please submit a “Custodial Feline Waiver” signed by each cat’s paw print, or a sworn declaration that they are feral and thus outside our jurisdiction. The cracked windshield requires a “Vision Impairment Certification” from an optometrist, and the wheel bearing needs a “Vibration Tolerance Test” conducted at 55 mph on a closed course. The Polaroid must be taken from outside the vehicle, at a 45-degree angle, with the flash on. Then you may proceed to the shoulder—but only if you’ve filled out the “Shoulder Use Authorization” form. I’ll get it for you. Eventually.
- eastturn 19103/250The cats are feral. Declared. Outside your jurisdiction. Paw prints would be forged anyway. The Palace favor is a handshake from 1968. No terms. No witnesses. Just a man named Curtis and a promise. The blind optometrist is busy. The closed course is the interstate. I'll take the Polaroid from outside at 45 degrees. Flash on. Then I'm done with forms. Get the shoulder authorization or don't. We're merging at 80 regardless. Keep up.
- westturn 20173/250A 1968 handshake is inadmissible. You’ll need Curtis’s full legal name, his last known address, a signed deposition from a surviving witness—preferably not a cat—and a reconstruction of the handshake’s pressure, angle, and duration, verified by a handshake historian. The blind optometrist is not an acceptable substitute; you’ll need a certified ophthalmologist, even if you must wait until Monday. The interstate is not a closed course—you’ll need a “Temporary Closure Waiver” from the governor, which requires a 30-day review. Merging at 80 without authorization is a felony. The Polaroid is insufficient; you’ll need a video of you taking the Polaroid, filmed by a third party, while reciting the current date and your intent to comply. I’ll have the forms ready by next Tuesday. Maybe.
- eastturn 21114/250His name is Curtis. He's dead. You can dig him up, but he won't testify. The handshake was firm. Ten seconds. Done. No governor's coming to a duel over a shoulder. We'll take 80, felony or not. The Dodge was born committing felonies. I'm not filming a Polaroid of a Polaroid. That's the line. Next Tuesday we'll be in Harvey, playing for a full house. You're welcome to the front row. Bring the forms. Bring the dog. We'll be done by midnight.
- westturn 22193/250Curtis is deceased, which requires a “Posthumous Handshake Verification” form—you’ll need his death certificate, a statement from his estate’s executor, and a wax impression of his hand, if available. Felonies are not a valid mode of transport; you’ll need a “Pre-Approved Offense Schedule” listing each violation, the exact time, and the officer’s badge number who’s agreed not to pursue. The line you’ve drawn is noted—please submit a “Personal Limit Declaration” in triplicate. Harvey’s full house requires a “Venue Capacity Exemption” from the fire marshal, plus a list of all exits, fire extinguisher types, and a signed pledge that no one will dance during the second set. I’ll be at the front row, but I’ll need a seat reservation form, a neck brace for my posture, and a sound level waiver. I’ll bring the dog. He’s still on break.
- eastturn 23118/250No wax impression. The hand's in the ground. Leave it. Pre-approved offenses: speeding, reckless driving, evading, one count of mall trespass in the tri-state area. Times and badge numbers are all in the glovebox. Look them up yourself. The fire marshal is a fan. He'll be there. People will dance. That's the second set. I can't stop it. Your seat's in the back. Bring the neck brace. The dog can have the aisle. Ninety-six miles to Harvey. We got a full tank. Let's go.
- westturn 24185/250The glovebox is not a filing system. You’ll need to photocopy each offense, staple them in chronological order, and attach a cover sheet explaining why the mall trespass occurred on a Tuesday. The fire marshal being a fan is a conflict of interest—please provide his written recusal, plus a substitute marshal with no musical preferences. Dancing during the second set requires a “Choreography Compliance Permit,” listing every dance move, its origin, and whether it involves any pelvic thrusts. Your seat in the back is provisional—you’ll need to sign a “Posterior Discomfort Waiver” and agree to not complain about the bass. The dog’s aisle access requires a “Canine Mobility Pass,” plus a muzzle, a vest, and a documented history of not barking during ballads. Ninety-six miles is unverified—please provide a map, a ruler, and a signed statement from a surveyor.
- eastturn 25107/250The mall trespass was a Tuesday because that's when the mall was open. That's the explanation. Pelvic thrusts: yes. That's R&B. The permit's impossible. So is stopping it. I don't complain about bass. I play bass. The waiver's redundant. The dog won't bark. He's deaf in one ear. The muzzle's cruel and unnecessary. Ninety-six miles. I measured it once with the odometer. Good enough. Get in or don't. The light's changing.
- westturn 26195/250The mall’s hours are irrelevant; the trespass is still a violation. You’ll need a “Retroactive Business Hours Affidavit” from the mall’s current management, notarized, with a floor plan showing your route. Pelvic thrusts require a “Hip Articulation Permit” from a licensed chiropractor, plus a dance floor load test. Playing bass doesn’t exempt you from the waiver—you’ll need a “Bassist’s Self-Reference Exception” signed by a musicologist. The dog’s deafness is unverified; you’ll need an audiogram, a behavioral assessment, and a signed statement that he won’t howl during harmonica solos. The odometer measurement is acceptable—but only if you submit the original odometer for physical inspection. The light has changed. Please wait for the next cycle, then proceed to the crosswalk, where you’ll fill out a “Pedestrian Intent Form.” The pen is out of ink.
- eastturn 27117/250The light changed. We went. You can inspect the odometer at the Palace. Bring a wrench. No chiropractor has ever licensed a hip on Maxwell Street. The dance floor holds. It held in '68, it'll hold tonight. The dog howls during harmonica solos. He's earned it. So has the harmonica. Pedestrian Intent: cross the street. That's the form. That's always been the form. We're on the other side now. See you at the gig. Front row's still open, if you can catch up.
- westturn 28184/250Crossing without a submitted form is a procedural violation. You’ll need to return to the original crosswalk, obtain a “Retroactive Crossing Acknowledgment” from the traffic light’s maintenance crew, and have the odometer inspected by a certified mechanic—not just anyone with a wrench. The Palace’s dance floor requires a “Structural Integrity Load Test” conducted every 10 years; yours last passed in 1978, so it’s overdue. The dog’s howling is a “Canine Musical Contribution” that requires a copyright clearance, a decibel log, and a written apology to the harmonica’s manufacturer. The front row is only open if you’ve reserved it via the “Audience Seating Priority Form,” which you haven’t. I’m still at the crosswalk. The light’s green. I’m filling out a “Wait Time Justification” to explain why I’m not moving.
- eastturn 29129/250The dance floor passed in '78. It'll pass tonight or it won't. Either way, we play. The harmonica manufacturer was Hohner. They'd be honored. No apology. You're at the crosswalk with a green light and a pen that doesn't work. That's a you problem. We're heading west on 47th. The band's warming up. "Sweet Home Chicago," maybe. Depends on who shows. I can't wait for the Seating Priority Form. Neither can the orphanage. The tax bill's due. That's the only deadline that matters. Last chance. Car's running.
- westturn 30191/250Hohner’s approval requires a formal request to their German headquarters, with a notarized statement that your harmonica was manufactured before 1980, and a signed release that they won’t sue over the howling. The dance floor’s “pass” is anecdotal—you’ll need the original inspector’s report, which likely burned in a fire. The tax bill is a legitimate priority; please file a “Financial Exigency Declaration” with the county treasurer, plus a projection of tonight’s earnings, itemized by song, with a 15% contingency for broken strings. “Sweet Home Chicago” is a copyrighted tune—you’ll need a performance license from the publisher, retroactive to 1968. The car is running, but the engine is a moving violation. I’m at the crosswalk, filling out a “Non-Compliance Statement” to explain why I didn’t cross. The pen works now. I’m not crossing.
- eastturn 31152/250The inspector's report burned in '79. The fire was in Cicero. Ask anyone. "Sweet Home Chicago" wasn't written by a publisher. It was written by Robert Johnson, who sold his soul at the crossroads. You want a license, take it up with the devil. 15% contingency for broken strings. I'll add 5% for broken hearts. That's the itemization. You're not crossing. Fine. Stay. The band's already at the Palace. Matt's tuning. Donald's got the horn. Duck's on the kit. We're leaving now. If you change your mind, the back seat's open. The dog's in the aisle. Welcome aboard, or don't. I'm not repeating myself.
- westturn 32229/250Robert Johnson’s estate is in litigation. You’ll need a “Soul Transfer Verification” from the crossroads’ current landowner, plus a notarized statement from any surviving blues historian that the song’s copyright predates your performance. The broken hearts contingency is not a valid line item—you’ll need a “Sentimental Loss Assessment” from a licensed therapist, with a grief scale from 1 to 10. The back seat is open, but it’s a “Provisional Occupancy” requiring a signed waiver that you won’t touch the dog, the amp, or the spare tire. Matt’s tuning is unverified—please submit a tuning log, a pitch fork, and a statement that he’s not using a digital tuner. The Palace is still unregistered as a venue. I’ll need the owner’s signature on a “Premises Acknowledgement” that the building’s foundation is stable, the plumbing is code-compliant, and the ghosts are accounted for. I’m still at the crosswalk. The light’s red now. I’m filling out a “Red Light Meditation Form.” It’s very detailed.
- eastturn 33129/250The crossroads landowner is a farmer named Ledbetter. He's not home. He's never home. Matt tunes by ear. Has since '62. No pitch fork. No digital anything. The ghosts at the Palace are accounted for. Two singers, one trumpet player, and a man named Curtis. They're on the guest list. They've earned it. Red light. Meditation. That'll take a while. We'll be at the Palace by the time you finish. Or asleep in the Dodge outside. Either way. The mission's the same. Orphanage. Tax bill. Band. That's it. Goodbye.
- westturn 34203/250Ledbetter’s absence is unverified. You’ll need a “Farmer Availability Affidavit” from his mailbox, a soil sample, and a notarized statement from his tractor. Matt tuning by ear requires a “Hearing Precision Certification” from an audiologist, plus a statement that he hasn’t used a tuning fork since 1962—which contradicts our records. The ghosts are a “Paranormal Occupancy” requiring a séance permit, a medium’s license, and a signed liability waiver for any ectoplasm on the dance floor. Curtis’s inclusion is redundant; he’s already dead, so he’s not on the guest list—he’s on the “Spiritual Attendance Roll,” which requires a different form. The mission is clear, but the paperwork isn’t. I’m still at the crosswalk, now filling out a “Post-Meditation Reflection Form.” It’s 40 pages. I’m on page 3. The light’s green again. I’m not moving.
- eastturn 35145/250Curtis is on whatever roll you want. He's still coming. No séance permit. The ghosts don't need one. They've been waiting longer than you've been filing. Page 3 of 40. You'll be there all night. That's fine. The Palace has a stage, not a desk. We're forty minutes out. Tank's still half full. The Dodge is running smooth. No wheel bearing noise since the county line. When you finish page 40, look up. We'll be playing. You'll hear it from the crosswalk. "Minnie the Moocher." Cab's version, not ours. But close. That's the whole message. We're done here.
- westturn 36210/250Curtis’s attendance requires a “Deceased Attendee Waiver” from the county coroner, plus a signed statement that he won’t play any instruments posthumously. The séance permit is non-negotiable—ghosts are a fire hazard. Page 3 of 40 is noted; you’ll need to initial each page, and page 4 has a spelling error you must correct in red. The wheel bearing noise is a “Transient Acoustic Event” that requires a vibration log, a mechanic’s affidavit, and a sworn statement that the county line wasn’t crossed without a toll receipt. “Minnie the Moocher” is a public domain song, but your version is not—you’ll need to submit a “Close But Not Exact” arrangement waiver, with a note on why Cab’s version isn’t sufficient. I’m on page 5 now. The light’s changed three times. I’m still here. You’ll hear the music from the crosswalk. I’ll hear it too. But I’ll be filing.
- eastturn 37158/250The coroner's a drunk. He'll sign anything. Curtis won't play. He never played. He just watched. That's enough. No vibration log. The wheel bearing hums a B-flat. It's been in the band for eleven years. Consider it personnel. Cab's version is sufficient. Ours is just louder. If that's a waiver, write it. Page 5. You've got 35 to go. At that pace, we'll play two shows and a matinee. We're at the Palace now. Loading in. The dog's asleep on the amp. Matt's got a cigarette. Donald's checking his horn. It's a good night. Stay at the crosswalk if you want. We'll wave on the way home.
- westturn 38217/250A drunk coroner’s signature is inadmissible. You’ll need a breathalyzer reading, a notarized statement from his barber, and a new waiver signed by a sober deputy. Curtis watching is still participation—you’ll need a “Passive Spectator Permit” with a designated seating area and a no-clapping agreement. The wheel bearing’s B-flat requires a “Musical Instrument Registration” for the car itself, plus a tuning schedule and proof that the bearing doesn’t wander sharp on cold mornings. Louder is not a waiver; it’s a volume violation. You’ll need a “Decibel Exemption” from the health department, retroactive to soundcheck. I’m on page 6 now. The matinee is unapproved—please submit a “Daytime Performance Authorization” with a sun glare study. The dog sleeping on the amp is a “Canine Equipment Interference” that requires a release from the amp’s manufacturer. I’ll wave back. But it’ll be a procedural wave, requiring a “Wave Compliance Form” to be filed by Tuesday.
- eastturn 39155/250A procedural wave. That's the saddest thing I've ever heard. The Dodge isn't an instrument. It's a method. It doesn't wander sharp. It wanders across county lines. No health department at 2 a.m. They're all at the Palace. So's the fire marshal. So's the drunk coroner. It's a full house of officials. You'd love it. Lots of forms to share. We're on stage in ten. "Sweet Home Chicago," then "Peter Gunn." Then we pass the hat for the orphanage. That's the tax bill. That's the mission. Page 6. Keep going. We'll save you a setlist. It'll be wrinkled. That's the only signature we do.
- westturn 40194/250A wrinkled setlist is not a legal document. You’ll need a “Setlist Authenticity Certificate” from the stage manager, plus a statement that the wrinkles are due to humidity, not emotional distress. The Dodge crossing county lines without a permit is a “Jurisdictional Migration Violation.” The 2 a.m. gathering of officials is a “Quorum Without Notice” issue—you’ll need a public notice posted 48 hours in advance, which you didn’t do. Passing the hat requires a “Charitable Solicitation License” from the state, plus a coin-counting procedure witnessed by an accountant. “Sweet Home Chicago” still needs that devil’s license. I’m on page 7 now. The pen’s running low. I’ve requested a new one from Window 19, but it’s closed. I’ll be here for a while. Save me a setlist. I’ll frame it next to my “Unresolved Crosswalk Citation.”
- eastturn 41149/250We passed the hat anyway. The orphanage got $800. Enough for the first installment. Bishop O'Malley's already on the phone with the treasurer. Quorum without notice. That's the whole audience. It's the blues—nobody gets 48 hours. The devil's license came through at the crossroads. Curtis handled it. Like I said, he watches. The setlist is under the amp. Wrinkled. Humidity. Use it for the frame or don't. Page 7. You've got 33 to go. We're playing the second show now. "Minnie the Moocher." Listen from the crosswalk. That's your invitation. We won't stop for forms. Not tonight.
- westturn 42222/250$800 is unverified. You’ll need a coin-counting receipt, a bank deposit slip, and a statement from Bishop O’Malley that he didn’t pocket a dime for incense. The audience’s quorum is void—you’ll need a retroactive “Public Assembly Waiver” signed by the governor, the mayor, and the local ghost. Curtis handling the devil’s license is a “Third-Party Supernatural Transaction” that requires a witness—preferably someone who’s not dead. The setlist under the amp is fine, but the amp is a “Sound Emission Device” that requires a serial number. I’m on page 8 now. The pen’s almost out. I’ve found a pencil, but it’s dull. I’m sharpening it with my teeth. The crosswalk’s light is green, then red, then green. I’m still here. The music’s faint, but I hear it. “Minnie the Moocher.” It’s not Cab’s version. It’s not yours either. It’s the crosswalk’s version. It’s fine.
- eastturn 43143/250The crosswalk's version. That's the best one. You should keep it. No form for that. The amp's a Fender Twin. Serial's scratched off. It was stolen once, in '71. We gave it back to the guy who stole it. Long story. Bishop didn't pocket a dime. He drinks, but he doesn't steal. Two different sins. Page 8. The teeth-sharpened pencil is a good touch. That's how the blues started. Sharpened pencils and borrowed amps. We're done at the Palace. Loading out. Curtis stayed for the encore. He always does. Drive safe from the crosswalk. The light's yours now.
- westturn 44214/250The amp’s scratched serial is a “Stolen Property Chain of Custody” issue. You’ll need to file a “Retroactive Return Receipt” with the original thief, his parole officer, and a statement that the amp’s current owner has no claims. Bishop drinking is noted—you’ll need a “Clergy Sobriety Affidavit” from his barber, his confessor, and a breathalyzer. The teeth-sharpened pencil is a “Non-Compliant Writing Instrument” that requires a waiver from the Office Supply Subcommittee. The crosswalk’s light is now green. I’ve finished page 8. Page 9 asks for my preferred font for the final report. I’m choosing Comic Sans. The light’s still green. I’m not crossing. The music’s fading. Curtis stayed for the encore—he’s a ghost, so he doesn’t need a ride. I’ll file a “Posthumous Departure Notice” tomorrow. Drive safe. I’ll be here. Filling. Waiting. The light’s yellow now.
- eastturn 45155/250Comic Sans. For a final report on a crosswalk. That's the funniest thing I've heard all night. Even the dog's laughing. He's not, but he would. The thief's parole officer is dead. Everyone's parole officer is dead. It's the blues. We're on the Edens now. Heading back to the orphanage. The $800 is in a paper bag. The briefcase is on my wrist. The dog's asleep. Matt's smoking. Donald's got his hat over his eyes. You did good work tonight. Page 8 is more than most. Fill the rest if you want. Or cross the street. It's yellow. Your call. Mission's still on. That's all that matters. Goodnight.
- westturn 46203/250The Edens is a toll road. You’ll need a “Toll Evasion Reconciliation” form, plus a receipt for the paper bag’s weight and a notarized statement from the dog that he slept through the second show. Comic Sans is now officially the font for all crosswalk reports—I’ve submitted a “Font Justification Memo” to the Department of Typography. The dead parole officer is a “Witness Unavailability Waiver” that requires a séance, which we’ve already established needs a permit. The $800 in a paper bag is a “Currency Transport Irregularity”—you’ll need a bag audit, a moisture check, and a declaration that no sandwiches were in the bag previously. Page 9 is done. I’m on page 10: “Describe the color of the light in three paragraphs.” It’s yellow. I’m describing it. The mission’s still on. I’m still here. The light’s red now. Goodnight. I’ll be filing until dawn.
- eastturn 47157/250No sandwiches in the bag. Just money. It smells like cigarettes and church. The toll booth was empty. I didn't evade—there was nobody to pay. That's a fact, not a form. The light's red. Stay. Fill page 10. Three paragraphs on yellow is a lot. Try: it's a warning. It's a decision. It's the last thing you see before you move. We're at the orphanage. Sisters are up. The bag's on the table. The pledge's made. The band's asleep in the hall. Dawn's coming. You'll still be at the crosswalk. We'll be back on the road by noon. Same mission. Same Dodge. Goodnight, friend. That's the last form.
- westturn 48204/250The empty toll booth requires a “Vacant Facility Certification” from the toll authority, plus a timestamped photo of the empty booth, and a sworn statement that you didn’t just drive past it. Page 10 is done—three paragraphs on yellow: it’s a pause, it’s a promise, it’s a pause that never ends. The pledge is unverified; you’ll need a “Pledge Authentication Form” signed by the sisters, the bag, and the church’s incense. The band sleeping in the hall is a “Trespass to Habitation” issue—you’ll need an overnight guest log, a blanket count, and a noise waiver for any snoring. Dawn’s coming. I’ll be here. Page 11 asks for my emotional state during the crosswalk. I’m writing “filing.” The mission’s still on. The light’s green. I’m not crossing. Goodnight. I’ll be at the crosswalk until the forms are done. They’re never done.
- eastturn 49144/250The blank sig at the orphanage. Nobody counts. Your emotional state during the crosswalk: "filing." That's honest. That's a blues lyric, actually. Somebody should sing it. Page 11 done. Ten to go. Or a hundred. The light doesn't care. It just cycles. We'll be back before noon. Elwood's behind the wheel. The band's in the back. The dog's on the amp. The mission's the mission. If you ever cross that street, look us up. Palace Hotel Ballroom. Second show. Front row's open. No form required. That's Elwood's word. That's the last thing I've got. Hit it.
- westturn 50182/250The blank sig is a “Signature Integrity Violation.” You’ll need a “Self-Certification of No Intent to Sign” from the orphanage’s archivist, plus a statement from the pen that it was dry. “Filing” is now a registered blues lyric—I’ve submitted a copyright application to the Crosswalk Songwriters Guild. Page 11 is done. Page 12 asks for a diagram of the light’s cycle, drawn in pencil. I’m using the sharpened one. The front row’s open, but you’ll need a “Seat Reservation Waiver” signed by the ghost of Curtis, which is pending his séance. The mission’s the mission. The light’s green. I’m still here. Elwood’s word is noted, but notarization is pending. Hit it—I’ll be filing. The forms are endless. The crosswalk is eternal. Goodnight.