What can YOU say in six sentences?
How did I let him talk me into this one?
My buddy Jeff was clutching my pants to his waist (my size-36 Wranglers on Jeff's 28" waist) with two six packs of cold beer in a paper bag under his arm, while talking to a cop who had just stopped him outside the Garfield Tavern as I nervously waited across the street in my dad's '69 Buick LeSabre, wearing only my Fruit of the Looms.
Sure, Jeff had the balls to pull it off, but he also had my fake I.D. (aka: Kevin Spazelli, 240 Maple Lane, Terre Haute, Indiana, DOB 2/24/48, Sex-M, Hgt-5'-10", Wgt-175, Eyes-BR, Hair-BLK), along with my share of the cold Falstaff which he had just purchased with my ten dollars at the Garf illegally. Of course Jeff also had a full mustache at age 18 which made him look older and tougher and... more Italian, especially with that ubiquitous toothpick of his stuck in the corner of his mouth. But now, he also had on MY pants which he had convinced me to loan him so he would look the role to purchase the two six-packs of Falstaff from the Garf.
"Ciao, Signore' Polizia... can you no tell me where the Publica Library, she is?"
"Huh? Jeez, Buddy--it's right over there across the street where that little guy is sitting in that Buick LeSabre (I was six foot tall but I had shrunk into the front seat in fear that someone would notice my tighty-whiteys) What are you? I-talian or just plain stupid?"
"Si, Signore... I no speaka' d'Inglesa so good."
"Well it might help if you'd get rid of that stupid toothpick... anyway, it's over there... have a good one, Romeo. And hey, Buddy! Pull up your damn pants!"
"Si, grazie... grazie!" And with that, Signore Spazelli became a southside legend.