I was just awakened from a lovely nap by lost bro guys. There were two of them, the Shouter and the Mumbler. The Shouter was on his phone and alternately talking to the Mumbler.

SHOUTER: AN HOUR AGO WE WERE AT THE BAR AND NOW WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE!!

MUMBLER: Urghm… [inaudible]

SHOUTER: WHAT THE FUCK, I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME! NO, I’M AT HARMONY AND BAGUETTE! NO! GET THE COMPUTER!

MUMBLER: grghgm…

SHOUTER: SHUT THE FUCK UP! NO! I DON’T KNOW. I WALKED THE WHOLE WAY. YOU GOTTA HELP ME. COME ON. FUCKIN’. THIS IS FUCKING NOWHERE.

SHOUTER: FUCK FUCK, FUCK, FUCK FUCK FUCK! HOW DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN? YES I SAID HARMONY AND BAGUETTE. NO I DON’T KNOW. YOU TELL ME WHICH WAY! LEFT OR RIGHT? I’M FACING… FUCK JUST TELL ME HOW TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!

This went on for about fifteen minutes. For reference, I’m a half mile from the boulevard where any bar would be, and if you look down “Harmony” you can see a major thoroughfare at each end within a few minutes’ walking distance. Shouter was degenerating into a meltdown panic as if he’d fallen into an abandoned mineshaft or been left behind by the last chopper out of a firefight in Afghanistan. Periodically he attempted to hail some passing car. Oh dear god don’t leave the poor boy here in this suburban neighborhood that’s laid out in a grid. Some soccer mom will skin him alive for a laugh or he’ll be mauled and eaten by wandering housecats.

Finally I went out to either help him find his way out of our living Hell or get him to shut up. He was headed in the right direction, though, and he and Mumbler slowly flapped in their flip-flops towards the twinkling lights of the Oasis called Newport Boulevard.

SHOUTER: YEAH, BUT WHAT WAS FUNNY IS HOW MUCH WE RIPPED HIM OFF!!

MUMBLER: shut the fuck up

SHOUTER: WE GOT HIS NINETY BUCKS AND THERE’S NO WAY HE GOT HIS MONEY’S WORTH! HAHAHAHAHAH!