when you are at the BK Lounge having a delicious Whopper on a June night. Whats the worst that can happen? Some kids nail your car backing out? They laugh and peel out, yelling obscenities when you holler at them to stop? Like that ever happens.
I feel like I should be crammed in the back of something like this (except not a hatchback), while my BK Lounge coworkers, a crazy girl from a fucked up family* and her gay brother/cousin/gardener**, drive me around Westwood looking for some dude on a corner that might sell us them weed. Continue reading “BK Lounge-mobile”