My neighbor Brenda tells great stories about bikers and heroin addicts, and occasionally, herself. Back one summer night in 1991, Brenda had been drinking heavily for several hours when it became time to head home. Her friend Tagger asked for her keys, since Brenda was so sloshed that she couldn't even stand up straight. She belligerently refused.

They haggled, wrestled, shouted and eventually calmed down. Brenda agreed to a compromise. She would sit in the driver's seat and steer, and Tagger would sit in the middle and control the pedals.

They drove through both lanes past the copshop, stopping and starting and turning and backing up. It didn't work very well. Somehow there were no police leaving or entering the station at the time they passed it. Dumb luck.

Tagger must've been drunk too if he agreed to try that.
10:35 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm