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Chapter 12
The next day we met for lunch at a small diner.
"You gotta admit", Stu said, "the thing with the moose was some pretty clever marketing. I can't think I've ever seen any better."
"Soon you will", I said. "So are we going?"
"Dunno", PKC said. "Look at where it's taking place. That's right near the woods."
"So what?"
"Didn't you hear? Couple a weeks ago an inmate escaped from the mental institution. He's said to live in the woods, eating mushrooms and carrion. Sometimes he comes out to buy cigarettes and word has it he assaulted a clerk who wouldn't sell him any."
"Come on, don't be scared of such silly stories."
Suddenly there was an uproar. A fat guy standing next to the counter was shouting: "Fuck! He stole my pie. The asshole stole my pie!"
"What's going on?", we asked.
"Did you see that? There was this big black guy, he took my pie and just ran away with it."
"That must be Carl Cox", I said. "Awesome, it means he's playing tonight at the rave."
"Wait, Carl Cox was eating here? And then he took your pie, too?", PKC asked.
"Yeah", the fat guy replied. "He sat over there and had a coule of sandwiches. And a salad. And some fries. And a steak. And some poutine. And more sandwiches. And half a waitress. And some ice cream. I was sitting here and ordered a delicious pie but... uhm... you know, they put it so far away on the counter that I couldn't reach it because of my... somehow. And then the asshole stole it."
"Maybe we can help", Stu said. "But we need some more information."
"Like what?"
"So after Carl Cox ate all that stuff, how much did he tip?"
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