and Taxi.

I got a complaint that I was a drug addict. They went to the office, looked at me, talked. Suddenly, no matter what, the officer asks:

What music do you listen to?

“Who is a drug addict?” I think.

Different in mood.

Is there a flash with a muscle in the car?

There is.

What music on it?

The Dip House.

Okay, then go to work.

That was it, I wonder.

- See, read the text of the complaint, - the monitor opens up to me.

I read, “The driver is a drug addict. All the way, I was silent, eating skitts and listening to drug music.”