"Dammit," Barry exclaimed as he and Doug drove Molly along. The car grumbled its agreement.
  "Dude, what?" asked Doug as he pulled back his receded hair into a pony tail like Howard Hessman post-Johnny-Fever.
  "This fuckin' CD wrapper! I hate these." Barry tossed the box aside, cracking it, of course. He swung Molly into the Pasadena City Hall parking lot, and she groaned like the Titanic.
  "Easy, spazboy," said octogenarian Molly Jones from the back seat.
  Doug recovered the CD, careful not to crease his Gerry Garcia tie.
   "Molly?"